Falling for Hellish Eyes
by Bloody Priestess
Summary: -Assassin Cross x Priestess- They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends. But NOW the difference of their jobs, stand in life, and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another...
1. Before Everything Else

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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.¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸.

Summary: Assassin Cross x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs, stand in life, and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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Authoress' Notes: (**09/19/05**) Ladies and Gentlemen, I am a Philippine Ragnarok On-Line Player—to be specific in the server of LOKI. Err, I also have some characters in Sara and Lydia but I'm very much concentrating on my LOKI characters.

I don't own the game (which by the way, totally **RO**ks!), the elements, the jobs, and places mentioned in this fan fiction but what I DO own is the story's plot and characters.

I will try to make this fiction as true to the MMORPG Game we all love!

Please R&R, thank you in advance! **RO**k on!

The funny thing that happened as I was writing this fiction (really now, _funny?_), specifically this chapter, was that my WINAMP was playing some Ragnarok BMG, LOL! That was pretty inspiring… Hehehe!

**/kis2**

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**Chapter One**: Before Everything Else

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She was born on a chilly autumn's afternoon. She was born into this world a seraph of a baby with her stunning silver eyes, rosy cheeks and healthy nature. With these attributes, she effortlessly prevailed as the bodily personification of the celestial beings bards sing all the time…

But the child's beauty came with a price for the Gods were petty and jealous that was past any mortal comprehension. In return for all she was born with, she had to give up her mother to death.

The locals of Alberta, of where she was born, called her astounding loveliness, "The Compromise to Freija, the Goddess of Beauty".

But that was _only_ the beginning of the compromises she _yet_ had to pay…

Her merchant father, Deus named her _Adrienne_. Although her name meant _dark_, she was the all the _light_ of the world to him. Deus would practically do anything for his beloved daughter.

One day, when Adrienne was only less than a week old, he packed up all of his goods and fitted it all in a cart. He left the place of his birth to roam all over Rune-Midgard, sell-off his merchandise and never looked back.

Villagers whispered tales of how he could not bear memories of his late wife whilst within the town. With his midnight-blue haired daughter always close by, they could only murmur about the torment he endured. And this was how he was to be remembered by his patrons—a handsome middle-aged father and his stunning little daughter.

Her first memories were of towering stately trees then of magnificent castles, people bargaining with her father… But they never stayed in one place for too long. By the time she was able to make friends, they'd move ahead to the next town or to the next towns' dungeon where her father's supplies were always in demand.

The consequence, her early days were lonesome for companionship from those of the same age as she… But she was never embittered. She'd face the change with an even bigger smile than before… for she knew: Father will _always_ be there.

She was only four autumns (or years) when she and her father first moved into the Swordsman capital of Izlude. By such time her father, Deus already established a prominent reputation and his moneybag expanded with hard-earned zennies. Finally, Deus need not roam so frequently. And so they settled, for the longest time Adrienne could remember. Her effervescent spirit could not be any happier.

_Izlude_. This was the small, humble town where her best friend-to-be was born and reared in all of the six years of his life…

He was born during a raging storm just as winter was dying to give way to spring. As the lighting streaked the darken skies and thunder bellowed its mighty voice, he was not to be out done. He screamed his way into existence, demanding the world to know that he had arrived.

_He's a proud little thing_, his mother thought gazing on a small bundle of life resting on her bosom, brushing the shabby yet clean cloth her son was wrapped in. _Just like_… _No_. She shook the comparison aside… for too many painful emotions reside there.

The gray, portly midwife looked at the sweet young mother and her son with concern. _How would they manage?_ But her aged voice belied nothing, "What shall you name 'im, m'dear?"

His mother whispered, "Zachary." She had noticed for the first time that her newborn son had silver hair.

Her exquisite dark blue-violet eyes met his, for the first time. And they were as pitilessly dark as the skies outside. A chill ran through Margo Reith's being.

_Heavens, _she prayed silently, _bless my son all the strength you _never_ bestowed upon _me.

His mother waited. But the Gods remained heartlessly silent.

And so, his first memories were of his home's leaky roof and strange, strange people always coming and going. There were nice people, mean people, some were garbed in their finest clothing, and some other was in their shabbiest. Some were old, others young, some were handsome and beautiful, others had faces only their mother could love. There were always people about the house… but they never stayed long.

There was absolutely little to no chance of really talking and getting attached to them. So, Zachary, from an early age learned to distanced himself. Silence became a dear and well-known companion. And with that came his uncanny skill to listen and hear beyond words spoken— he learned to listen and hear the minutest of sounds, from the quickening of the heart to the gentle rustle in the wind that heralded company.

He was his mother's little helper, ever since he could remember. Despite the adversity that seemed to be the only and constant companion, his mother managed to keep a smile plastered on her pretty yet pale, drawn face…

But he knew better. Some nights, whenever his mother thought he was fast asleep… She cried silently.

At first he did not understand why… he thought it was his fault. After noticing that his mother would cry harder on those days when she seemed to be in her happiest of dispositions. He, at the tender age of three, inferred that it was best to stay mediocre in the state of happiness—for it was really hard to fall from such a high to such a godforsaken low if you've _never_ been in such a high in the first place. By staying mediocre, disappointments did not seem to hurt has much.

Zachary never met his father. His mother always told him, he was a handsome man, so noble and that he died. His little head overflowed with questions but would never press for _more_ answers… Because later that night— his lovely, darling mother would cry her hard_est_.

Being quite the resourceful little "man" that he was, he tried to acquire information from their neighbors but they seemed to know nothing. Matter of fact, they do not seem to know much about his mother…

_Curious_…

His early days were spent outside the humble inn, he and his mother own, advertising it. He was told that he need not to. But… he _wanted_ to. The feeling of worthlessness never left him… it was the only thing he thought he could do for the mother he loved so fiercely. In his own little way, he protected his mother in silence—and she protected him from her melancholy.

Destiny would have the two young novices meet under a fruit stall in the southwestern part of Izlude town.

She just got mugged and he came to her rescue—although he was NOT able to subdue the wicked Rogue—he did managed to rescue her from shedding embittered tears.

She was tremendously grateful and he was bloated with self-worth. It wasn't very often he was praised and thanked for his interest to butt-into matters that didn't concern him.

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with newly ceased tears. With that he realized, he had the competence to ensue happiness in other people… regardless of what have been held against him.

And as young as they were, they did not recognize that reality they each found not 'just a friend', but '_the _friend' to fill the hollow void that was already present in their lonesome, young lives.

Ever since then, they became inseparable.

There in Izlude, _Aid_, Adrienne Luex was remembered to have the sweetest, most compassionate, and friendliest temperament. As well as the most erratic (yet endearing) mood swings and the wittiest retort a child could have. Everyone who met Aid easily was enchanted with her. She was very known to have the darkest midnight blue hair and the lightest pair of gray eyes.

People would say that they were so pale that at first glance some would say she has the _darkest shade of green _like that of the dense green trees in the Payon Forest as they see her under the trees' shade playing 'Climb like a Yoyo' with Zach.

Soon after another would claim she had _clear, blue eyes_ like that of the pristine blue sky hovering over the grand city of Prontera as he saw her by the blue waters of Izlude Harbor sweetly waving good-bye to random adventurers headed for Byalan Island or to her father's home city of Alberta, again with Zach.

And another declared, she had eyes hued _molten gold_ like that of the scorching barren desert of Morroc as he saw her running down the shady wooden bridge entrance of Izlude City with Zach chasing her in a game of tag…

All these different colors of her eyes were drawn—it was because her stunning eyes reflected the color of her surroundings… A _rare_ article… much to pride of her father as he was always praised for having such a stunning child… She was quite the splitting image of her departed mother, much to his bittersweet joy.

And her best friend, _Zach_, Zachary Reith was known to be the most composed, self-possessed and solitary child the eyes of Izlude would ever see again. He hid from the worlds prying eyes his quick intellect and venerable nature under the cloak of silence and façade of indifference. He was remembered to have had a shocking mane of silver hair and the most ardent set of dark, dark blue eyes…

Nothing would seem to infuriate the young boy. He always had his head in clouds and both feet on the ground. Despite his outward sereneness, he was a kid through and through… His demons always at bay whenever Aid was in close proximity.

Often put through Aid's bidding, given that the girl would cry if he didn't… like any male, he would rant, complain and drag his feet… But in where it counted, Zach was glad to oblige.

He and Aid were opposites— yet they complemented each other in everything and perfectly.

They were then known as the 'Inseparable Aid and Zach'. And they were the _best_ of friends.

Time would have it when she just turned twelve and he, was thirteen, came that instance for one to obtain their first job. In Aid's case, as an acolyte—such an aspiration imply she had to leave for Prontera with her father… to begin _her_ journey.

With a simple wave, she and Zach bid farewell to one another. And in the midst of the tears in her eyes that down rolled upon her pretty, pastel-hued face, she tossed him one of her gold-hoop earrings right off her person.

"Keep them to remember me by!" She called out as she and her father disappeared through a portal.

Zach looked on for a moment longer, his eyes painfully dry—although it was tearing him up from inside he knew he must NOT cry.

_Boys don't cry._

'Twas his mother words—the very last words of a dying woman spoken as she lay limp and fragile upon the humble inn room they owned. Late last night, she was taken to bed for a terrible headache that had accompanied a fever. And after a night of restlessness, just before the sun rose, she had peacefully fallen asleep and never woke up. The physician had no diagnosis for the demise of his mother. All he said was that, his mother was never _truly_ well to begin with. Frail, he called her.

Zach could not bring himself to tell his best friend of his mother's state… for he didn't want to taint their parting with _more_ tears. Zachary had enough for fruitless tears to last him a lifetime.

_Futile_, he thought as he walked back home to bury his mother with the memory of Aids tears, _The wretched girl cried anyway! That's just like her to always wear her heart in her sleeve_. The thought fell upon him in a bittersweet wave of emotions he could not decipher or dare to feel.

_I'll miss you, Luex. _He finally permitted himself to say.

_My best… _only_ friend._

They were the best of friends.

_Were_.

Therefore, they are not any more.

We hold 'changes' liable for that.

"_The end of all meetings, parting… The end of all striving, peace."_

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End of **Chapter One**

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Authoress' Notes: Ei, ei there… Well, this chapter's like, an introduction—somewhat meant to be a teaser. Hee, in one way or another I sense this chapter isn't _that_ good but I assure you that things get complex and interesting as the story progress—so just hang tight, okay guys?

Thanks for taking time to read this, I really appreciate it.

God bless you in all your endeavors of this life!

Until the next chapter… See yah! Ü!


	2. Ushered Into Dooms Doors

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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.¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸.

Summary: Assassin Cross x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs, stand in life, and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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**Chapter Two**: Ushered Into Dooms Doors

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The Morrocan summer sky was practically aflame with the lack of humidity…

_What can you expect when you live in the desert?_ Zach thought as he arose late one afternoon some four years passed since he and a girl with silver eyes exchanged glances.

The memory doesn't seem to bother him anymore—he doesn't allow it to… It was vigilantly thrust back of his subconscious and slowly gathering dust in a box hidden someplace in the back of mind.

_Just as it should be. There was no place for such 'weakness', like looking into the past, for _this_ profession_.

He scowled at the rather buoyant thought. But an outsider's eye will see that did not lessen the beauty of his face. The dark, dark blue eyes were constantly alert, piecing and uncompromising like that of bird of prey. Firm lips permanently quirked to side from one too many sardonic smiles render his mouth to its current succulently sensual quantity. He had a face that was well-proportioned and expertly chiseled like that of a marble statue.

But then again, there were so few who _really_ knew what he looked like underneath that obstructing piece of cloth he always draped over his face.

Long, strong fingers wind up his slightly long silver mane as he tried to brush back the tresses of wild from sleep off his face. As half of his hair insolently fell back to its place, he murmured something that sounded like. _Note to self, get a hair-cut_.

The young man of seventeen winters (or years) sat up from his poor-excuse-of-a-bed—the hard mattress, the stiff bed frame (not mention too small for his lofty, tall stature) and the musty pillows, and excessively patched blankets.

It was not his place to complain. He reminded himself, for the reason that this was the life he sworn to have as a fugitive of the law— an _Assassin_.

Despite the astonishing amount of money safely stashed away, Zach could not afford to solicit decent accommodations— because a truly respectable inn-keeper price was too high. The price demanded was his freedom. Dark back alleys, the pitiable sleeping conditions and resting accommodations, the constant sight of spilled blood, and the cold, hard cash… This was only the life of his kind and kin knew.

_On second thought_, Zach reflected at the same time stretching what anyone who could see a magnificently lust-evoking, top-stripped body. _The money part isn't so bad. After being so deprived of it as kid, it serves me well—as it allows me to eat three times a day… That's enough— it has to be. That's enough for_ me_ anyway_.

Bending over to retrieve the messily discarded raggedy purple and brown garb of an Assassin carelessly tossed onto the inn room's scarred, unpolished, poorly maintained floor. The silver hair that smoothed past his face may have blocked his view— But, even the most feathery of all footsteps and most agile of movements from behind him was futile for his overly-sensitive, well-trained ears.

_An Intruder._

In half of a heartbeat, he threw himself to a side tumble. Dropping onto his back to land efficiently, he then rolled a few feet before swiftly reaching for his Katar-type weapon, a pair of _Infiltrator_. He speedily put them on before rolling again to narrowly dodge the shower of arrows.

And in the same fluid motion, he dashed for the small, dingy room's corner and made damn sure to gain sufficient momentum. With both feet, he kicked off the room's wall and propelled himself to the obviously _bow_-armed intruder. With his armed arms outstretched before him, he drifted gracefully above the rooms' floor, his handsome face composed and focused. Zach twisted in mid-air, maneuvering himself so that he would be with an advantage over his assailant.

He made contact. He sensed the assailant's body giving away to his exerted force and in effect to the natural laws of gravity. The both of them landed on the floor with a loud crash.

He landed on top his foe, as premeditated. With his long, powerful legs functioning as immovable weights to pin the attacker onto the floor, he instinctively hoisted his _Infiltrators_ cold, sharp edge against the enemy's throat ready to strike…

Adrenaline made a final surge through his veins—it deafened his ears, blinded his sight and finally it gave this unbelievable extra boost of strength, power and agility to his muscles. The body's natural drug allowed him to be aware that he was alive and very much capable and _ready_ to kill.

And then—

A throaty chuckle from his assailant made Zach shot an icy stare at his attacker. The woman had calmly stashed her _Rogue Masters bow_ and _Oridecon_ arrows. Her "state of calm" did not fool him but he said nothing. Allowing her to carry on with her sense of security would leave her person vulnerable and unguarded—so much the better for him.

"I'm impressed, _Bloodbath_… very impressed." She said in that unabashed lusty, throaty voice of hers.

His _nom de plume_ made him narrow his suspicious, dark blue eyes in apathy as got up and off her. Since this woman called him by his street name, he knew now and for a fact that she's here to conduct business…

He eyed her again—she was dressed in a skimpy, fur-trimmed, red bolero, skimpy dark shorts with black fish-net stockings and high-heels—this woman unquestionably a _Rogue_.

He tried to connect a name and face from his memory. It was hard for him to do so—given that he received so many blows (specifically the killer BASHES from Knights and such) he encountered that he feared it conceivably had damaged his memory. He dare not speak of this fatality and handicap of his to anyone. It was a matter of survival and of …_pride_.

She laughed at the sight of him appraising her, "Forget me so soon, Bloodbath? I'm hurt…" She coyly twisted a lock of her long, blood-red hair with the 'dirty' middle finger, "It wasn't long ago that you and I shared your bed." She gestured meaningfully as she leaned back unto the heaps of his disordered bed. Making herself very comfortable and…

Zach inwardly breathed out a sigh of relief. She had mistaken his forgetfulness for cruelty. "What in the hell does my bed got to do with your name?" He questioned snidely. He knew for a fact that what she said about she and his bed was a lie. He could never forget who he had taken to bed. _Never_.

He needn't bother to ask how this woman found him—it is pretty obvious that she was part of a powerful and influential Guild to have learned his whereabouts. _Bloodbath was always cautious._ But then again… when one had the backing of the most high-ranking, the most influential, and the most vicious… Everything _is_ possible… for as long as you're willing to pay _their_ steep price.

Her dark-red-rouged lips curled into a malicious smile as she sat up on the bed and inquired almost innocently, "What indeed?"

He stood tall and unabashed with the fact that he was barely clothed before a loose woman who had no qualms of her lusty gazes down his body. He could feel the weight of her stare as he walked over the beds side-table and lights himself a cigar, all composed. (AN: Smoking is dangerous for your health!) "You come with a purpose. C'mon say it—you're wasting _my_ time… The sooner you spit it out, the sooner you can get the hell out of my face."

The female Rogue nonchalantly nodded, suddenly all business-like.

_She's thoroughly unfazed by the harsh tone and dialogue spoken unto her._ Zach observed with exceptional keen and insight, _Familiarity and frequencies had made her immune and insensitive to all the reality that's she's being looked down upon_. He immediately crushed the budding feelings of compassion. _I have no room for that… anymore_.

However, somewhere deep within his achingly, blood-stained heart, Zach prayed to the mighty Odin that a similar circumstance would not suggest itself to him. He'd rather personally ferry a thousand of souls with glee to the underworld in exchange for having immunity for being looked down upon.

"Well…" She began, flashing him an ugly-looking scar fashioned like an Egyptian hieroglyphic-eye enclosed in a circle with spiky edges on the circles outer side that was imprinted on the base of the left side of her neck. "This is my guild's emblem,_ Dooms Doors—_of which I'm sure you have heard of. I am Hela Gavan, the so-hailed '_Goddess of Death_' and the humble left hand of the Guild Master, Enid Juvse, who requests you to join our guild."

"Why?" There was no undertone of flattery it was just and simply was a pure, straightforward inquiry.

He damn knew of Dooms Doors and all its members' capabilities. The guild was based deep in the Morroc Dessert, where it was near impossible for adventurers to stumble upon it on chance alone. And the rumors of their castle, _Mesopotamia_ was infamous—

One of which claimed that the very foundations of the said stronghold was built with the same material of Thor's exceptional gloves. So was the reason that when the mighty God came to instill punishment on all those in _Mesopotamia_ where he brought upon a devastating tempest. And so the once white-stoned castle turned to black after the enraged deity repeatedly threw down his lightning bolts.

"You cannot deny your exemplary skills as an assassin, Bloodbath. With your skills working for our guild—you'll be notorious, wealthy, and feared a thousand times over as you are now, more times over than you working alone and—"

"I work best…_ alone_." He cut her off in a soft, cold, deadly manner. "I never was fond of people looking over my shoulder when I work." His words, on the surface were urbane, almost polite…

Just _on the surface_… She thought with a chill.

"_And_ nothing's wrong with that," the blood-red haired rogue said hastily, sensing this fearsome aura around the killer. And in unexpected alarm of finding out for herself why they reputed him 'Bloodbath'. "All we're asking is for you to consider our offer. If you wish it, you can come and see the guild house—blindfolded, of course…"

"And then what?" he asked, his voice strangely dead neutral. "Allow you to catch me off guard? So seize the opportunity to annihilate me?"

Hela didn't answer in fear that she might further infuriate Bloodbath and thus, further displease Guild Master. She knew that if failed to bring this Assassin to the lair—the Guild House, there will no forgiveness for her. She shrugged uneasily.

That action did not go unobserved by his sharp senses and yet he retained a very placid expression. In his unnervingly stillness, he betrayed nothing of the drop of empathy he experienced at the sight of the Rogue's distress.

He dropped unto the bed (quite opposite to the side where Hela was sitting) and began to slip back into his crummy deep violet and dusty-brown rags—the garments of an _Assassin_ over his body.

_He's bluntly ignoring the offer—my message!_ She thought agitatedly for a way to shift his full attention back to her and to what she was saying. "You may deny in words but words have no significance in comparison to actions. If you do come, you'll see first hand what _Dooms Doors_ can offer—what it can and will _do_ for you. Isn't there a cliché that goes 'Actions speak louder that words'?"

"There is such a cliché." The silver haired young man answered blandly before taking a long drag then tossing his burnt out cigar out his room's open window, "But apparently you haven't heard of the saying, 'Without words— nothing'll stir the mind to take action'."

The Rogue paused for moment, trying to recall the author of that rather enigmatic line. At long last she replied, "No, I have not."

"Of course you have not." Zach snickered contemptuously, "I just made it up. Was that cliché of yours supposed to seduce me into joining your guild?"

"If it doesn't—_I_ will." She said coyly, slanting back with her arms supporting her purposely seductively arched body.

"You can try all you want." Zach voiced humorlessly, his dark blue eyes ice-cold with indifference as they graced over her pose. "But your attempts will be or naught. I'm not easily seduced."

Her pale-amber eyes were weights upon him but if he did felt the weight of her stare, he wasn't giving any suggestion of sensitivity to it. "We will see…" Hela couldn't help but take notice of the sexy rustling of his garments fabric. She allowed the melodious shuffling to overwhelm her senses—when they weren't as loud was she wanted them to be, she shut her eyes. "And if I am proven to have spoken falsely, you can cut my tongue off…"

The sound of her last word was quickly died out at one fell swoop she again felt a rather cold piece of sharpened metal under her throat and the voice that followed was cool, disdainful and horribly, horribly familiar. _It could have been Death's very voice_. "No one will ever have true control over me, Rogue."

"Apparently, you haven't met _Dooms Doors_' Guild Master, Bloodbath." She was extremely taken aback not with what she said but rather the composed manner she said it.

Zach saw the surprise written all over her face, read and interpreted it correctly. _Perhaps, when the spirit has fully accepted death, it ceases to care_.

"Fine." Taking a handful of her blood-red locks, he yanked her heartlessly to her feet. "Take me to your leader… and we'll see if you're worthy to keep your tongue where it is."

"Hook," The young Assassin didn't see Hela's mouth curl impishly as she thought, "line and sinker."

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End of **Chapter Two**

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Author's Notes: (**n/n/2003**) Okay—Zach's last line was kinda cheesy (of me anyways). Waddya think, guuyssssssss?

Hmn, so you guys, ought to know by now that this _ficcie _(fan fiction) isn't for the faint of heart, the conservative kind, nor is it for the intolerant of the 'bad things'… Hee hee, I'm warning you guys as early (or could it be, 'late'?) as now because things _will_ begin to get ugly… and a tad bit… uh, nasty. Uh-oh…

But I continue to hope and pray that y'all will bear with me and this fan fiction of mine.

And if you'd kindly sign-in or simply leave your email addresses as you review I'd gladly answer your questions, give a (or two) reply to your suggestions and thank you personally for the review… Just tell me so and I'll personally drop YOU a line.

Well, oh well… With all that said and done, all I have left to do is to thank you guys. Well, thank you very much and may the mighty Odin bless you and the trickster Loki spare you.

**RO**k On! Ü!


	3. Requiem

.¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸.

* * *

**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

* * *

.¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸.

Summary: Assassin Cross x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs, stand in life, and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

.¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸. .¸¸.·´¨»«´¨·. ¸¸.

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Author's Notes: (**n/n/2005**) This is in response to some posted reviews. You may disregard this but for information's sake allow me to voice this out. I made an accord with myself that I should refrain to put up A/N in the beginning of the ffic but much to my dismay I cannot—so here goes.

I intentionally used the phrase '_Authoress'_ to emphasize that I am female. With that thought I presumed that you—the readers would be conscious of the connotation that I have certain limitations and cannot-dos in my fics (for example—male-associated violence, to name a few, or in my case—_a lot_). But okay… I'll change it back to the usual phrase that is 'Author's Notes'.

Hmn, the capitalization of the words like 'assassin' and 'rogue' is actually correct. The aforementioned words are indeed—proper nouns in Ragnarok canon. It seems that you must refer to the way I used them in the sentence—that I'm not so confident and with that you're (possibly) correct. Thank you for telling me. I really appreciate it your inputs.

I will do my utmost best to avoid any _more_ mistakes but it cannot be helped if I do happen to fail, right? I am, after all I'm only human, a mere mortal who's every much capable to failures mistakes and weaknesses.

Thank you for the very insightful and beautiful reviews—you've challenged me to do better and that's a good thing. I only pray that you'll never tire of hearing that—it hurts when you're pouring your heart (and mind) out and all they hear is the bland clichés.

Thank you for hearing me out. Here's chapter 3, guys, enjoy!

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**Chapter Three**: Requiem

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A solitary pianoforte's resonant tune filled the Guild House's halls with this eerie, dishearten ambiance. The heartbreaking melody played on, reminding the household of the lingering mood cast on to them by Death.

It was amongst them—it was _still_ with them.

Whisperingly faint against the pianos echo were scarcely audible wails from the Guild Members. For right this very moment, their much-loved and honorable Guild Master lay in a tomb within the guild castles' main hall, mourned.

A human-shaped, tamed monster Zherlthish, named affectionately_ Ish_ (AN: pronounced EYE-sh) stood by the entrance of the chamber where her master was performing the melancholic notes upon the grand piano's keys. Although she was merely a monster tamed by the pianist, Ish had feelings too… She knew of death and loss—after all it used to be her area of expertise until this young maiden taught her how to …care.

The pet concentrated on that composed visage that shrouded her owner, a young priestess. It was undeniable—_but_ what people fail to discern is that clandestine gloom that cunningly hid away from sight amongst the corners of her divine appearance.

Even the keenest of eye, tend to fail to see the gloom underlying the stunning patrician features of Adrienne Luex's face. The young priestess always made it a point keep the corners of her lush mouth in an upward curve. Her slightly tilted almond shaped, silver-gray eyes consistently twinkled with gaiety, wit and encouragement for whoever they fall on; but lose some of its usual luster whenever she was helping herself. Her laughter constantly ringed with a light, musical note to it as it emanate sincerity and at the same time it was generously laced with a weighty, inexpressibly profound meaning.

"There it is," Ish stated instantly recognizing that far-away look. "The traumatized gloom of a past—a past tormented with sorrow."

Behind the grim melody, Ish could just about hear her master's thoughts. It was a tamed Zherlthish's endowment, to have the ability to hear the _un_spoken thoughts of people other than themselves. They called it, Telepathy.

In her master's silence, Ish was able to hear (involuntarily) the voice of the young priestess' thoughts as if her "_mi_ _lady_" was directly talking into her bizarre yet, as Ish had been told, endearingly pointy ears.

"_**Death is yet again upon this stronghold,**_

_**Requiems cried up, down, 'round the place,"**_

"As usual, the master sings the prayer in her thoughts." Ish deliberated as her wonderfully odd, olive-green eyes determined to remain glued and watching—or in this case, _listening_.

It was melodious, almost lulling, and Ish found herself lost in the singer's clear, soothing soprano voice as it was mellifluously contrasting to the deep tone of the ivories resounding keys…

"_**A just man rests peacefully in a tomb,**_

**The end**_** is rife upon his still face.**_**" **

The priestess's mouth did not stir as her melodiously soft and _soprano_ voice filled the dome of musicality in the Zherlthish's head.

"_**Lord have mercy on his soul,**_

**Kyrie Eleison...**_** 'tis our appeal."**_

The musical bearings created by the piano keys were now much more calmed, accepting and featherlike to the ears—as if it was trying to convey a message that it was now accepting.

"_**Guide his soul into Valhalla's hall,**_

_**Open your doors, receive him, please..."**_

The melody deepens all the more in the bridge of the song…

"_**Lord have mercy on his soul,**_

**Kyrie Eleison...**_** 'tis our appeal."**_

And without warning…

The colors began swivel, twist and blended past Ish in a nauseating blur of motion and sensations. They swiveled, twisted and blended until there was nothing left but pitch darkness and void.

All of the sudden, out of the void came forth this awesome explosion of sparks—sparks brought shadows and the shadows eased into silhouetted figures.

And so a vision began to unfurl before Ish's awe-stricken eyes.

…

_One by one, the mighty fell to the bitter, embittered earth._

_Among the few left standing was a young-looking acolyte. She shivered, but it was _not_ of the bitingly cold rain that fell unto her grief-bowed head and her shoulders slumped by defeat that affirmed her—_

_Now… she was on her knees._

_The cries of battle and death appear to ebb as if it was at a great distance from where she was. Her movements were slow and almost reluctant._

_Earlier, an impious mortal had summoned monsters by the entrance of the Archer Village, near Payon Cave in Payon with the use of _Dead Branches, _no less a hundred in number._

_The tears streaming down her cheeks were not obvious as it intermingles with the fat drops of rainfall._

_The rain fell upon her like unforgiving, icy daggers. It was cutting and ripping her apart—slowly killing her from the inside out._

_Her body was unusually feeble and frozen. She could not even find that strength of will, her father constantly boasted she possessed. That missing _vitality_ was supposed to trigger her to rise on both her feet and (at least) make an effort to run away from the surreal vision of corpses._

_Didn't really seemed like a necessity—given that the only person who believed "you can" was drenched not only by the rainwater but also in a pool of his own blood._

"_Father," the thirteen year old acolyte whispered brokenly. "Don't leave me..." Her hands clasped over the open wound on her father chest—'twas too late… the blood ought to have dried if not for the dampness of rain._

_She cupped her bloodstained hands to her face—too proud to allow her father see her lament._

_Her father _is_ dead. The reality of the thought finally sank in._

_The approaching footsteps were muffled by the drops of rain as it hit the sodden earth. She still had her eyes covered—it was impossible for her to see the white-draped, ghastly figure of a _Wanderer_ ominously towering behind her—its daunting staff suspended in air set to slay._

_Swiftly after sensing the apparent danger, the acolyte turned in due course to see the Wanderer wield its weapon down unto her._

_For the _first_ split of the second the acolyte was delighted—she was to join her father into Valhalla. And the _second_ half of that spilt second, she dreaded—who was going to bury him beside her mother in Alberta?_

_She found herself involuntarily screaming, her eyes shut away from the horror that was before her. "NOOOOOOOO!"_

"DEVOTION_!" A deep, manly tone of voice chanted._

_Surprisingly, this most illuminated circle of light ringed around the ground where she was on. At the same time the monster's staff hit her squarely on the shoulder but she felt not even a twinge of pain._

_She rotated to the chant which was instantly followed of the renewed battle cry— And to where rain silhouetted forms of a fully-armored man and a miniature version of it, drawing close to where she and the monster stood ground._

_A raven black haired swordsman, a little over her age, charged towards the Wanderer his _broadsword_ unsheathed and hoisted up in the air as he assailed._

"_Hiiiiiiiiiya!"_

_The acolyte caught a glimpse of the same illuminated circle around on her upon the _Swordie_ and her eyes dazedly followed the delicately simmering, thread-like line that circles around each of them she saw it trail back to a battle-scared, another raven-black haired person but the difference was this one's a _Crusader.

_The crusader smiled tightly at her as his face twitched in pain when the Swordie under his supportive spell was clobbered by the Wanderer. Seeing that the monster shifted its target and was now attacking the "miniature him"—and well away from the astounded acolyte, the crusader joined to spar against the fiend._

_The acolyte noticed the fresh and unhurt faces coming to assist of those who were getting weary to continue the battle against the summoned monsters. The newcomers were all adorn with the same coat of arms—they were of the same guild with her two rescuers!_

_She beheld the unfolding events in stunned awe and fright as the crusader to cast _Holy Cross, his weapon following motion that characterized the sacred insignia.

_The Wanderer paused with its face contorted in incredulity and before shrinking away to nothingness at her savior's feet._

"_Alright!" the young Swordie smirked, looking with veneration at the crusaders exploit._

"_He saved me from what could have been deaths bow…" And the thought of it caused her cheeks to burn. Her head hung in shame and her body quivering with fury—all of which were directed to her person._

_The younger swordsman's vibrantly steel-blue eyes briefly yet understandingly flashed at her before sighting of a fellow guild member, a blonde Mage sprinting away from a _Rubio_. He picked up his weapon and meddled there, leaving the acolyte alone with the Crusader._

_Seeing that she was still on her knees, incapable of moving throughout the fight against the Wanderer, the Crusader checked up on her. He saw that she was breathing and chivalrously offered his very own piece of _Fabric_ to cover the face of the deceased that she devotedly tried to protect._

_She simply continued to gape at the fabric draped over the corpse's face, hoping that by some divine intervention the corpse would get up and become the man that sired and raised her._

_Oh what she would have given to have ability to _Resurrect_… Now!_

_Seeing her in alarming motionlessness like that of the dead around her, he took the liberty of casting _Heal_ on her—just to be sure._

"_My sworn duty as an Acolyte was to PROTECT. But from the looks of _this_," She faintly gestured to a lifeless thing whom all throughout her existence she called 'Father'. _ My father. _And at that moment her eyes began to fill with fresh tears, "I failed! I couldn't even protect myself—my papa had to run in and save me… me, _ME_! The one who ought to _protect_!"_

_The handsomely weathered mans' light-brown eyes observed her with quiet curiosity and compassion as she continued to whimper in all her despair._

"_It's awfully obvious that," said she woundingly, "they should have made him the Acolyte and me, the merchant! My person—my papa, I cannot protect neither! What is my purpose, now that I've just proved that I can only fail! Sir," she finally locked her gaze up to him—broken and defeated yet brutally sincere, "Unworthy am I of your valiant effort. I am a failure."_

"_My dear," he spoke as if she was a little child (well, she was acting like one), "you _have not_ failed—but you're this," he held up his thumb and index finger narrowly apart to demonstrate his point, "close to failing. What, may I ask, is the basis of your power and abilities as an acolyte?"_

_Her eyebrows arched slightly, perceptively expressing her awareness of the Crusaders 'trick question'. On the other hand, she was immeasurably curious and reasonably bemused to what was supposed to be the right answer to that trick question of his._

_She was suddenly hushed and he felt he was getting nowhere so he coaxed. "Oh come on, _think_, child! Like you, I have draw power from this—"_

_Gradually, the falling rains tempo slowed and through the gray skies, little sunshine eased through them. With the little light, the Crusaders necklace caught a bit of that daylight—there it was the answer to his question, in a form of a… _cross.

"_Faith." her voice awfully meek and humiliated, "we, Acolyte and Crusader alike, both draw our powers from the faith in the Divine Power."_

"_Yes, very good and very beautifully said."_

"_You coached me, sir."_

"_And humble too. Only Acolytes carry out that trait through and through. From the looks of it, you're well-matched with the job you've chosen."_

_She persisted in her silent, angst-ridden anticipation that pretty soon he'd rub the point of his trick question. Then the notion made her think twice—and finally when she couldn't take the anticipation building in her so she cheekily asked, "Sir, do you think I am a failure?"_

"_Like I said earlier, this close," he emphasized again with that same gesture of his fingers. "My dear child, you have _yet_ to fail." He smiled when the dark, gray skies in eyes demystified and her mind broadened with new knowledge. "When you _lose_ faith—on yourself, on others and to the Divine Power—that would be your failure… That would be your _only_ failure. Surely, you understand?"_

"_Yes I understand, sir. Thank you for the insight, sir." She bowed real low, causing her mud, blood and rain soiled hair to brush off her shoulders and unto the front of her. "Well… farewell."_

"_Young miss, I am Derek Chantal, Guild Master of the guild, Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus" the crusader stated gallantly, "You'd be very much welcome to join this Guild."_

_Two huge tears rolled down on either side of her grubby and blood-soiled cheeks, "Thank you _so_ much, sir. But I must lie to rest my father in the city of his birth."_

"_And after you accomplish that errand? I, so boldly assume you have no place to go. Will you join the _Militia of Sungren_?"_

_She smiled gratefully. He saved her…again. But this time, from a lonely existence._

The images gradually to swivel into another nauseating blur of color and faltering suppressed emotions.

Ish's vision finally ended as she was looking at her master's back to her. The Priestess' figure was bent over focused with her piano playing. The pet warily ran a hand through the waist-length, silver strands of her hair in optimism it'd soothe the throbbing of her head.

"First, father … then the Guild Master," The priestess breathed mournfully, "In the end, we're all pawns to the fates' will." Getting off her seat before the piano, she clasped her hands together. "May the Gods hear and answer my prayers in behalf of those who grieve." _And those who _continues_ to grieve._

The young miss pulled her lengthy, midnight-blue hair off her shoulder as she picked up the piano cover and replaced it over the instrument. She unexpectedly paused, her silver eyes deep in thought, "_Time has this nasty trend of repeating the history."_

Ish couldn't help nodding her head in agreement.

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"Ushering into his majesty's presence of 'The Compromise to Freija, the Goddess of Beauty' of the Guild—Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus," a seemingly afar voice called out within the halls of King Tristran III's majestic Grand Hall and throne room.

The King's present audience was composed of _Knights_ and _Lord Knights _and _Crusaders_ and _Paladins_ in their best _un_damaged, polished-to-a-glaring-sheen armor and swords sheathed on their sides. The _Wizards_ and _High Wizards_ and _Sages_ and _Professors _were there too dressedin their long heavy, robes and staffs judiciously anchored unto the floorboards. The _Hunters_ and _Snipers _have their bows draped around their upper body as their falcons' gyratory overhead. The case-hardened _Blacksmiths_ and _Whitesmiths_ with their axes propped forebodingly over their shoulders. The bookish-looking _Alchemists_ and _Creators_ were present too with their ever present thick, leather bounded books. Although sensuously swaying _Dancers_ and Gypsies were admitted. And their counterpart—the _Bards_ and _Minstrels_ were playing musical accompaniment. The brawny-looking _Monks _and Champions, as well as the _Priests_ and _High Priests_ and _Priestesses_ and _High _Priestesses were there with their demeanor in every respect pious.

As if in unanimity, the flow of conversation within the hall dispensed akin to ice-cold ripples upon the pristinely warm, rushing water of brought forth by the season of spring.

His majesty's audience rotated to the halls massive entrance where a pair of cloaked figures stood, unmoving as they waited to be acknowledged and granted in the bounds of the Kings public antechamber.

"Forgive me, my lord, my ladies and your majesty—if I so boldly to correct the Royal Presenter. I am no longer who they call 'The Compromise to Freija, the Goddess of Beauty' since the transfer of rule in our guild to Sir Damon Chantal. I am," she gracefully dropped, her head lowered and her dark skirts spilled around her knees in a deep, throne-room curtsy, "the _'Jewel of Prayer_'."

"Welcome, my child!" King Tristan's voice reverberated cordially from his throne, apparently recognizing the figures and agreeably ignoring the somewhat livid murmurs of the crowd.

The spectators' eyes inquisitive and watchful—although, this was not the first time they caught a glimpse on any of the distinguished Militia of Sungren's Guild members, curiosity continue to run strong. The _Militia_ guildsmen were infamously well-known for their discreetness and potency in getting the job done. Eyes followed the devastatingly lovely young woman and wondered to themselves— Such a deceptive appearance!

Given this reality, many guilds try and try again to gain control of _Militia_'s castles in optimism to consume the prolific loots that lie within the guilds_ Treasure Room_ care of His Majesty, King Tristran III who they loyally serve. And many other guilds envy their 'closeness' to the king and his court.

They know for a fact that the _Militia_ and its three Orders (Cerberus, Furies and Ixion) was established some years ago—upon the demise of Derek Chantal's father—Vernon, whom the current king's father knew. Vernon was the _Militia_'s major head and _Grand_ Guild Master. It was in his will that the guild was to have three orders (or sometimes called—Guild Extensions) and his three children were to have dominion over one.

His eldest, the Paladin Derek was to have the 'Order of Cerberus' and the agit—The _Cyfton _Castle. Vernon's only daughter Juniper, a wise Professor was to have the 'Order of Furies' and the agit—The _Wyvern_ Castle. And the youngest—Preston, a Champion had 'Order of Ixion' and the agit—The _Gyndon_ Castle. The famous and notorious among Militia's three orders was—the Cerberus.

The newly arrived visitors received the recognition from His Majesty as an opening to strip off the fabric that concealed their faces. The shorter of the two figures was the first to decloak, her long midnight-blue hair was tidily hooped with a golden circlet. Where as the second figure—to the utter astonishment of the majority of the group—followed, put on view not only her monstrous features but her apparent sensitivity and awareness seeing that, she rehooded herself.

"Come, come now, and don't be bashful!" And with gesture of his imperious, bejeweled hand, the King of Rune-Midgard motioned the midnight-blue haired maiden to approach the throne—the closest any person amongst the assembled audience were to the king. "Bring along your Zherlthish as well, my dear."

When pair was before the king, he rigorously continued as if he was trying to hide away this dreadfully stinging ache. "I am sorry for your Guilds loss." He reached, to take the small, richly ornate valise she ceremoniously handed to him with her head bowed. A rueful smile manifested at the sight of the valise's content. His majesty raised the trinket for all the room to see.

She recognized the jewel brooch to be Derek Chantal's. She need not be a historian to know that the trinket—had history that only the two men knew of.

A sad tear glided down the monarch's face… "Derek Chantal is—was a great man, an outstanding warrior and modest servant to God and the sentinel for the citizen of Rune Midgard… And above all, he was a true and loyal friend."

A shiver ran down her spine. The priestess understood why the king was being this way. She knew that King Tristan III and Derek Chantal were best of friends—they just about grew up together, closer than blood relations, and friends.

"_It's always hard to say good bye to a friend._" She heard herself say.

She just then, she unconsciously reached for her ear, in nostalgic contemplation for an earring that was _still_ missing.

Just then a soldier came busting through the doors, an arm propped against the massive double-doors, trying to catch his breath, "I apologize your majesty and honored visitors!" he wheezed before recomposing himself and this time addressing the visitors as well, "but one of your _agits_ is under siege."

As if in cue, gasps of unease filled the hall.

"Well?" the king's tone completely devoid of the warmness he showed to his friends that the soldier shuddered. "Which one is it?"

Quickly and shakily the soldier glanced at the piece of parchment and judging from the size of it was delivered by the use of pigeons. "The _Cyfton _Castle, you majesty, one of your own—that is until it given away, so therefore, _was_ your own. Th—"

The midnight-blue haired priestess shifted uncomfortably. She cast a sideways glance to her pet, Ish. "Ours…" she whispered in her thoughts as an end result, Ish heard that message in utmost discreetness.

But the king spotted that action of hers, he turned to her. "Go. And defend your agit… Protect it—for you guilds honor and in my bosom friend, Derek Chantal's memory."

"Rest assured your majesty." And with that she gave a cool, calm and collected curtsy.

At the very moment she finished her 'little' bow and her eyes were in plain sight, King Tristran noticed that her eyes were reminiscent of hard, gray colored steel. "With Odin's blessings, we will."

"_Determination, burns behind those peculiarly hued eyes of hers…_" Someone amongst the assembled crowd thought whilst hidden and unnoticed by the king's noble guests.

"All right then," The king once more waved his imperious, bejeweled hand. "May the almighty Odin take all of you into the shroud of his protection!"

Ish and her priestess-master strode promptly out of castle and into its outdoors. Every once in awhile the priestess' golden, bejeweled circlet caught a striking ray of early spring's sunlight and with that making her unbound, straight, dark-hued hair spangle with its natural polish.

Ish stopped abruptly her master stopped and checked if they were followed, "Mi lady." the pet began beseechingly knowing what was to come, "Please, allow me to stand alongside with you during the siege."

"No," the priestess answered austerely and finally. "You know all to well that if I am lost and were to be resurrected again—you'd think less of me."

"Never, mi lady!" said Ish, her olive-green eyes sincere as they were adamant, "You know nothing would ever make me disloyal to you."

"But we can't afford to take that chance to prove your point, Ish."

There was this bright urgency in her _Mi lady_'s eyes—Ish knew how that came about, when you're in a guild and its emblem is branded unto you. You attain this telepathic communication with your guild members and that goes the same when you're in a _party_.

"We don't have the luxury of time, Ish. Please conform."

"Whatever you wish, mi lady I will obey." But Ish's tenor was odd in undemonstrative averse and resignation.

Her lips curl into a cheerless smile. "Thank you."

She set her pet back into its egg state and deposited the tiny egg tenderly into her pocket.

"I'm sorry if I have to be this way with you, Ish." She said out loud, knowing that once the pet is in its egg state they can't see, hear, or feel anything. "I guess I'm simply too proud to let anyone know I care for them—so tend to I push them away. I cannot afford to tell _you_ although you are my confidant—I cannot afford to tell _anybody_."

Then the priestess clasped her hands together over a sparkling _blue gemstone_. "Warp Portal", said she as she stepped into a foggy-white whirlwind on the ground and disappeared.

"_But _I_ heard that, Adrienne Luex. I know better now…"_ And in an eye blink, _he_ too vanished.

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End of **Chapter Three**

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Author's Notes: Ei. How's the chapters length? I was just simply conforming (see reviews, please! thankü).

I just need to clarify this (before I confuse you guys), chapter three's setting occurred a couple of years _after_ the timeframe made known in chapter two.

In addition to the changes I've made (it was pointed out by a reviewer. Thanks by the way, Mr. Cigara!). Here's another, Zach is still an _Assassin_… NOT yet an Assassin_ Cross_.

It's sorta redundant to tell you guys that I edited and made slight revisions of the previous chapters, as I always do (ignore this if you read it after **11/05/2005** )

I am extremely sorry for the confusion if may have caused. Please don't be offended (for those who think I've under-minded their comprehension skill), I merely am making sure that I delivered my thoughts right for this ficcie. I guess it cannot be helped if the trickster Loki chooses to set off his idea of fun by meddling and mocking me.

I implore you, grand Odin to please preserve me.

As for you guys—**RO**k on/no1

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	4. Hellish Eyes?

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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Summary: Assassin x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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Author's Notes: Hello there guys, thanks a bundle for the reviews!

Well… as always I've made some slight revision in the past chapter—nothing major, really. 'cept for a clarification c/o the priestess in the last chapter. I feel that a brief summary of it will do. (clears throat).She's _now_ known as the 'Jewel of Prayer', no longer the 'Compromise to Freija, the Goddess of Beauty'. You see, with the change of Guild Masters—their nicknames changed. I'm sorry for the bother—that is, if it did bother you… once more, my apologizes!

May I remind you guys especially when you encounter words that are capitalized, italized or sometimes both—please be aware that these are persons, places, and objects found in the game, more often than not, anyways.

Ragnarok On-Line wouldn't be Ragnarok On-line without guild sieges or rather (what we gamers call in the game,) WAR OF THE EMPERIUM/ _WoE_. So naturally I've incorporated some 'action' into this fanfic.

I'll keep my fingers crossed and my endeavors offered up to Mighty Odin.

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**Chapter Four**: Hellish Eyes?

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_**Run. **_Her mind commanded.

_Something's amiss with this strange, uncharacteristic stillness. _She observed, brushing past a bush that clutched onto her priestess garb as she dashed past it.

_**Pant.**_

_As my lungs scream out for the air denied to it._

_**Run faster.**_

_In this present pace I'll never reach the castle gates before it'd be barricaded with _"Storm Gust"_ against our opponents. _

"Increase Agi!" the priestess chanted briskly. Just then her feet were given a new pace comparable to a speeding arrow drenched a receding helix of light.

_**Pant harder.**_

_I'm afraid! I'm afraid to see the castle is in ruins by now!_

_**Halt!**_

_Hurrah! Cyfton Castle still stands!_

Cyfton Castle was located amongst Prontera's _Creamhilt_ castles. Very much like the splendid, solid-stoned castles around them, it was given from King Tristan III himself as a reward. Cyfton was a proud spectacle of beauty and was a formidable fortress with its high towers perfect for bow-welding _Archers_, _Hunters_, _Snipers_ and dexterous _Rogues_ to settle on and defend.

Adrienne whispered a quick word of praise and thanks to the favor bestowed by Gods while she dropped out of sight behind a darkened, narrow passage outside the castle.

She used the same instant to ascertain her gear and equipment and dutifully wore the brooch which bore her Guilds _Coat of Arms_ (EMBLEM) onto to her dress's collar to identify herself to the brutish guardians during the clash that lay ahead.

The Militia of Sungren's emblem was noted with two evenly sized circles that were positioned side-by-side and a smaller loop in the middle of the two—linking them as it were. Militia's colors and banners were unmistakably gold and black—with a hint of fiery-red on the insignia's hems for the Order of Cerberus—ice-blue for the Order of Furies—and jade-green for the Order of Ixion.

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He stood tall, proud, and noble—like his father before him, this Knight they called, '_The Bringer of_ _Tempests_'. His raven black hair was left untrimmed for a fortnight now that strands of his long, dark bangs were easily tucked behind his ears. Giving his nobly high forehead an anew amplification of unwavering authority and relentless courage.

"_Ready_?" The same, handsome dark haired _Lord_ _Knight_ calmly prompted the rows and rows of armed Militia Guild members of every job and profession. "Steady now, ladies and gentlemen."

The responds of "Aye, Sir Damon," echoed strongly as the men and women that composed of the Militia of Sungren, Order of the Cerberus prepared their counter-attack.

Hasty thumping footsteps pulsed to and fro the castles south gates interior—the Seigers were all but pounding in the other side of these massive doors.

"A lot of them are equipped for battle, ensured to smite imminent fatality and bring forth demise." The _Lord Knight_'s deep resounding voice boomed over the shuffling movements of his guild members.

The Knights were the ones closest to the still-closed gates, their row alternately spaced with a Wizard and / or a Sage for nuking, support and distraction.

Three Crusaders trail the sequence of fighters alongside a column of able-bodied Black and Whitesmiths, who just perfected their weapons; a handful of Bards ready to strum 'till the end; and Dancers fervent to allure then slay the enemy.

"They are here to take our stronghold—_our home_. They're trample upon our honor with the dread of failure and strive to pilfer the ultimate treasure of this keep—no, not the gold, ladies and gentlemen but the very lives of the people we love who are protected by these very walls, Cyfton Castles walls!"

"In the hands of Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus—at _our_ hands and with the assistance of our kin and brethren—the Order of _Ixion_. Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is they who will fail—they will _fall_'!" He aimed to be reassuring and motivating through there was this huge lump in his throat. "For honor!"

"For Honor!" they resounded with an equivalent fervor.

The Monk and Militia of Sungren, Order of Ixion's Guild Master—Preston Chantal glanced up to his nephew from the flank he assumed amongst the crowd of impassioned agit defenders. "You render your father his apt honor, Damon." He whispered. "_Cerberus_'ll be invulnerable with you."

This pep talk was Damon father's task before every siege counter-offensive. The Crusader Derek is dead of old age. The task of seeing to the Order of Cerberus and doing the pep talk was his obligations now.

—at the age of only eight and twenty years, Damon Chantal was the Guild Master of one of the most powerful guilds in Rune-Midgard. And it was also his job to escort a number of these brave souls to a crossing into Valhalla's gates.

He pushed the notion into the back of his mind, his vibrant, electric blue eyes smothering with vehement determination to protect his home and his father's legacy. Damon roared. "Odin guides us!"

"Odin guides us!" They repeated as they flanked themselves through the south gates and into battle.

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Not far away, she heard the faint clash of battle cries and chants of spells and counter-spells. Aid guessed by judging the direction the noises, the attackers were upon their southern gates—their 'back door'.

_And so it begins… yet _again. Adrienne thought.

The priestess crossed herself once more for the brave souls already in the skirmish with her silver eyes drawn to a close in a heartfelt and meditative prayer. "O mighty gods and great warriors of Valhalla! Don't cease to guide my comrades. Allow them to have the strength, the speed, the dexterity, the vitality, the quickness of wit and the luck they need to see through this trial. _Amen_."

Her silver eyes gleamed like newly unsheathed daggers as she strides briskly into the castles constricted passageway which leads to the Cyfton's main/receiving foyer.

She knew that this path was the fastest into their stronghold—that no attacker would dare to pass for it is a given that it was the most closely guarded by the defenders of the castle.

She prayed she was right in assuming so.

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With Hunters, Snipers and bow-wielding Rogues on the brink of the Cyfton castle's towers—the path en route for the castle main entrance was impossible to trek without going unnoticed.

The dark-brown, side swept haired Sniper, Greig Oughtred shifted uneasily at the same time he tried to vigilantly monitor from his position on the limits of the towers' interconnecting wall down to the pathway below.

That motion of his didn't escape the keen eye of the Blitzer-Huntress, Maltese Quinn. "Take it easy, Greig." She soothed her companion, taking a _Big Red Ribbon_ and fastening her lengthy cherry hair into a half-pony tail. "She'll be fine."

The male Sniper didn't look too reassured despite what she said. Judging the way his dark green colored eyes gaze out to the picturesque, dusk-lit landscape in the region 'round the castle.

"Oi, Miss Quinn! Mister Oughtred!" A sweet, sing-song voice called from down below the tower they were resting on.

The duo looked down to see the youngest Guild member, an Alchemist with her mint-green locks styled into a babyishly high pigtail.

"What is the matter now, Portia?" Maltese answered a tad bit too acidly as if the very young Alchemist ruined a wonderful moment or something…

"I was just going to ask if either of you could point out to me where you camouflaged your traps—your _Ankle Snare_ traps, to be precise." The alchemist, Portia Faunt beseeched ever so sweetly, "You see, I don't want to spring any of them. Especially that they're _oh so_ artfully hidden down here."

The huntress irately waved her hand, brushing away the bother imposed by Portia, "Whatever. Help yourself, will you? We're all busy here."

"But Miss Quinn," the alchemist persisted in a cute pleading tone that irked Maltese all the more, "I must plant my Marine Spheres where the traps won't be obstructed. Please, please, _please_ guide me, 'tis my first siege-defense and I aspire this to go well for Militia, the King and above all for Odin's sake. "

Sensing that the carrot-top Hunter and honey-brown haired Rogue from the adjacent towers were now listened-in to their squabble, Maltese inhaled sharply before regaining her bearings. With her falcon perched on her shoulder, she coolly gestured the Alchemist to the different sites where the traps were hidden.

"_Ugh_, for crying out loud," she added edgily at the sight of Greig fidgeting for the _n_th time, "she's a priestess—she can take care of herself! Think—_HEAL_, think—_SAFETY WALL_, think—_KYRIE ELEISON_! How protected can a person be?!"

"'Tis about time you listen to your own advises, Huntress Quinn," a blasé voice said from the neighboring tower/elevated-wall, a comrade-Rogue spoke, "_Calm down_—don't let your jealousy of th—"

"_JEALOUSY_?!" Maltese repeated her face flushed a considerable hue of pink akin to her hair, "Stand off, Rogue! This doesn't concern you."

"Shush, the lot of you." Maltese's voice whispered tolerantly but the old thing was, the huntress didn't even stir when that was stated.

Eyes shifted to the _other_ Maltese that advanced from the far corner of the elevated wall opposite to where the _first_ was on. One would have sworn to be seeing double—but what kept one sane was the vista of their different job clothes—one was in the garb of a _Huntress_ and the other a _Dancer_.

"Are we or are we not supposed to be defending our agit?" stated the Maltese who earlier spoke with tolerance at her look-alike, "Wouldn't that imply that we should work _together_ and not _against_ one other? What say you, _my_ sister Maltese, Rogue Vynce?"

A carrot-top hunter tried his utmost best not to drool at the sight of the dancer-garbed Maltese-look-alike as she glided unperturbedly past him.

"I have to agree with you, Micelles." The honey-brown haired rogue, Vynce Harper articulated almost blubberingly, apparently flabbergasted at the sight of sexily bared skin. He turned to Maltese, "You should be more like your twin sister, Maltese."

"Like her in what way, Harper?!" Maltese demanded her fine nose flaring, "Sway my hips as I walk? Trot around the castle half-naked?!"

"Works for me," Vynce said despite himself and that death glare Maltese shot him.

While Maltese went on ranting about that evil in men's minds at the sight of half-naked women, Vynce jolted a little in attempt to shake off a reverie.

_I take that back. I don't want you to change, Maltese, not for your sister, not for _me_, not for anybody._

"Maltese, everyone do we have an accord?" Micelles asked gently, unrolling her well-_card_ed _Whip_ to ensure it was in perfect condition.

Huntress Maltese rolled her pale blue eyes heavenwards, not pleased seeing herself—_or_ rather seeing her identical twin—with the same body as she, parading it for all to see and practically drool after it. "Fine, fine… let us get back to work—that means the lot of you have to quit staring at my bod—_ay_," Maltese amended quickly, flushing slightly, "—at my sisters' body!"

"Very well then. Eyes downward, everyone—here comes a sieger now."

Micelles gracefully raised her arms, standing lofty yet delicately arched in all the sinfully right places—the dancer slowly began to sway. The swaying was performed over a sweet, gentle hum.

The Dancer Micelles conducts her body into what could pass as a gracefully flowing ballet dance. She danced away her supportive spell unto her comrades—_Humming_.

Her dance infused a spectacle that will increase the accuracy rate of the Hunters, Snipers and the Rogues around her.

Their aim _will_ be true and sure.

Bows tighten as an arrow or two were set and ready.

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She halted abruptly. Her long midnight blue hair magnificently spilled off that shoulder of hers as she cast an anxious look in the wake of her. For what ever reason, unbeknownst to her, she cannot simply disregard the incessant feeling she was being followed.

Adrienne readily pulled out her _+10 Triple Vital Staff_. Taking another quick, fleeting look over her shoulder she recasts _INCREASE AGI_ upon herself and made a sprint for the castles main doors that were just around that corner. She followed the corners curv—

"Hold your arrows!" Someone screeched desperately from the alcove above. "That's a comrade!"

But there were few who anticipated and fired a split-second beforehand the caution was cried out.

At the same time Adrienne looked up, it rained down with ruthlessly razor-sharp arrows.

Out of self-preservation, Adrienne dropped down unto her knees. Her arms stacked protectively over her head. Although most of the arrows missed her, there were persistent few who managed to pierce into her and battered some of the _Summon_ed_ Marine Spheres_ around her.

"We're _sorry_, Aid!" the carrot-top hunter called from above. "Are you badly hurt?"

"Not a problem, really Skylark! I'm fine!" The priestess reassured the hunter, inconspicuously pulling out an arrow that pierced itself into her left shoulder.

"What in Valhalla's name are you doin—_ugh_!" Maltese groaned concurrently when Aid waved the removed arrow at her. "That's disgusting, Luex!"

"Brave woman—" Greig commented, an atypical smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

Maltese _hmmf_. Before she stuck her nose in the air and fumingly looked the other way.

"Oi," that same sing-song voice called as its owner paced out of the shadows right beside Aid, "Miss Luex—_catch_!" The young alchemist threw a _Slim White Potion_ to the arrow-injured priestess. "Wait, I have something else for you, Miss Luex—hmn, now where is _it_?" Portia couched over her cart and began fumbling its contents.

"Thank you, Portia." Adrienne began unsurely, "'Tis isn't necessary though. I can heal myself, you know…"

She trailed off as she caught sight of a fleeting movement in the shadows behind the alchemist. The _Jewel of Prayer_ blinked a few times, making sure if her eyes were indeed playing a trick on her or there was indeed a silhouette of a man looming behind the alchemist with his Katar-class weapon poised over the young mint-green haired girls head.

The priestess instinctively jumped unto her feet, knowing the answer to her doubt; which caused the potion bottle to crash unto the stoned floor—this erratic movement of hers caught the attention of the Hunters, Snipers and Rogues above.

"Behind you, Portia!" Aid said as loudly as she could. She felt her body reel with the effect of adrenalin and huge dose of fear. "_Move_!"

Despite this she continued to tread towards the fear-immobilized girl. The realization struck her force of hurricane upon the waves of the sea, _Even if she moves now, it's too late—he'll reach her—he'll kill her._

Adrienne's fists clenched as if to pinch herself out of an ocean of depthless stupor. _Not while I stand!_ She thought fiercely.

The midnight-blue haired priestess elevated both her arms with her hands directed to the girl-alchemist. "_SAFETY WALL_!" She chanted with the same fervor that of a Baphomet defending his offspring—and caring naught for the searing pain that clamped unto her ankle after treading forward, in order for her spell to work as it is in range.

A magnificently pale-crimson cylinder surrounded the alchemist. It enclosed her in an untouchable isolation. It protected her from the swift collision of silhouetted-man's _Infiltrator_ that materialized for a split-second then vanished as soon as he became aware of that his rapid blows on the girl were for naught.

"An assassin!" Micelles noted composedly, "Most likely an _Assassin_ _Cross_! Eyes open, please! He's using the _Cloak_ skill—he can move _around_ the parameter concealed from our eyes. Shoot him down as he become visible, that's the only way!"

"Oh, Miss Luex…" the alchemist addressed fretfully, "You can still make a run for it—you can make it through the entrance. Leave me. Your _SAFETY WALL_ will protect me."

Aid smiled oddly, probably because she tried to pay no attention to the clamping twinge on her ankle. "You know nothing lasts forever, Portia—it also applies to a mere Servant of Rune Midgards spells. I must stay—at least I can protect _you_."

"Shut that Luex, you speak as if today will be your last!" The _Sniper_ Greig spluttered furiously, replacing two silver arrows he just released to a fleeting shadow down below. "Get up, for Odin's sake! _GET UP_!"

"Greig, Marielis—_everyone_," she began, her tone brimful with resignation of what was to be her fate as if she knew something they did not. "You give me too much credit for an ability I do not possess."

"Oh, cut the crap and move already!" the cherry-pick haired huntress snapped as she unfastened her falcon, _Spearhead_ and sent the bird flying using the Hunter skill of _Detect_ to seek out the cloaking Assassin Cross. While the others lined along the edge of the high walls and jointly released their arrows the shifting shadow that appeared and disappeared in a split-second.

Greig's dark brown eyebrows gathered in speculation. He was just about to inquire the priestess what she meant with that statement of hers when he saw the answer to his query, as it glimmered with all its steel jaggedness.

_ANKLE SNARE. _She was trapped in the trap _he_ laid for the enemy!

"_Shoot_, Greig." Micelles prompted with a reassuring smile upon the sight of that face he made, "That's the least you can do to protect the woman you love."

"H-how did you know that I—_you know_," The sniper asked quietly and a tab bit bashfully, but his hasty movements belied his tone. "When I have not told a soul?"

Perceptively, the dancer smiled, "I am a dancer—I know life as rhythm. And," she deliberately paused for effect, "a heartbeat is nothing but a drumming rhythm to my ears."

"Remarkable."

That pleased smile that crept over Greig's features caused the Dancer Micelles to blush despite herself. She purposely cleared her throat so to as upset the mood, "Better? Will you shoot down the _Assassin_ _Cross_?"

A dark brown head nods sternly, "For Adrienne."

And for some reason, that avow stung. _Odd_…

"_DON'T MOVE_, Portia!" Adrienne counseled quite sharply whilst the alchemist attempted to breech the pale-crimson cylinder that protected her from harm. "Let him come after _me_. If there be causality in skirmish, let it be _me_."

"You're that eager to meet your maker, priestess?" an unruffled masculine voice whispered into her ear as he nonchalantly (at the same time, invisible) brushed past her with a mind-boggling momentum, impossible to realize _unless_—his boots were endowed with a Moonlight Flower Card.

"I am _eager_ to take you down with me, Assassin Cross!" Adrienne had spoken this with indomitable tartness at the voice's _Cloak_ed owner.

His voice quivered with amusement yet again as he brushed past her dodging the launched arrows, the circling falcons, the hidden traps and the _SUMMON_ _MARINE_ _SPHERE_s lying on the castles stone-grounds. "Feisty, I see. Is rudeness a new requirement into becoming a _Messenger of God_?"

"Those are 'Angels'. The Messenger of God are _angels_—NOT people of the cloth, which you unmistakably implied." Adrienne enlightened with all the spitefulness she could muster despite the dire, savage beating of her heart.

This was in faith that she could divert and somehow coax the hidden assailant out of his hiding—ample time for the bow-wielders to fire upon him. A strategy, she pray would be perceived by the bow-bearers above. She realized what she should do: distract him to keep from breaching the South Gates' entrance and provide the bow-wielders to get him.

Overhead, "What in the blazes is she trying to attest by flirting with the_ 'Sin_?" the Hunter Skylark, supposed rhetorically at the same time reloading his _+10 Double_ _Bloody_ _Gakkung_ with stun arrows.

"She's trying to distract him unto revealing himself." Greig answered as his attention very much vigilant at the task at hand. "She's quite good at that—distracting men." He added moodily.

"Mayhap, that's the _raison d'être_(reason) she's a priestess—to deter men from courting her."

"No," Greig bespoken softly that Skylark had to lean in a little to hear him at the same time discharging his devastating fire arrows, "There's more to that—more that I am in liberty to reveal."

"All right, all right… I'll let the subject drop. You know her better that any of us do, Greig. After all, 'twas the pair of you who ventured into _Glast Heim_ together. She is _your girl_, right?"

_Wrong again, Sky. Not _yet.

"I know what you're trying to do, my fair lady." The 'Sin Cross's voice articulated as he dashed past her with the same implausible agility.

For a split-second, Adrienne managed a preview of him just as he stylishly side-tumbled, disappearing as the arrows pierced the ground he was on. He was attired in dark-brown colored _Assassin Cross_ outfit, his entire head was obscured with a drape of cloth—only his eyes remain uncovered. But with his rapid pace, it was impossible to see what hue they were.

Indeed, they were facing an Assassin Cross—the skills, the weapon used, what _else_ possibly can he be?

The Jewel of Prayer's head followed the barely audible trotting of his running-steps as its sound crescendoed behind her. "Know _what_ exactly, Monsieur Assassin Cross?"

"Playing dim-witted doesn't suit you, priestess." His voice again, but this time he was right there in front of her, motionless and still undetected. "Your unusually hued eyes are too intelligent for such. They betray the lies you bespoken."

"I do not lie." The priestess had bespoken in a huff.

"_Oh_? But you do, luv. You do." The Assassin Cross stopped before her, still cloaked though. He insisted in a knowing tenor, his grip like iron restrains upon her.

_Is he attempting to do what I _suppose_ he's attempting to do?_ She felt an invisible hand whisk a stay strand of midnight blue hair off her face._ Dear Freija, is he trying to kiss me?_ Suddenly, she found it very difficult to breathe with such a man, so near that she can practically feel his warm, steady breathe upon her face.

Adrienne inwardly kicked herself—she knew she must breakaway, she _must_ stop the erratic pounding of her heart, she _must_ fight the unseen firm grasp on either of side of her arms, she _must_ compose herself as his unseen but keenly felt presence fitted itself against her, she _must_ breakaway—now that she felt his unseen face approaching hers!! She must do it now!

_Now, now, now_! Her mind commanded to a point that it pulsated painfully almost akin to her hurting ankle. But wretchedly, her traitorous body won't act in response!

"_DEMOSTRATION_!"

Neither of the two—the Assassin Cross nor the Priestess had the chance to react once a hot, flaming bottle exploded unto the 'Sin Cross's shoulder.

Startled by the blast, he took slim tread back, shoving Adrienne away from the fire that engulfed his head. The fiery fabric made a nippy rustle as he wretched the cloth off his hair which revealed the gleaming mane rivaling to that silver hue on the moon's light.

And there he stood—tall, powerful and dreadfully intimidating for of their eyes to behold.

"_DEMOSTRATION_!"

Another flaming bottle was heaved by the mint green haired Alchemist to the 'Sin Cross but inopportunely missed. The bottle shattered into a million pieces of Inferno upon it's collision to the Cyfton's stone floor.

The flames licked close him and yet they did not seem trek to the direction of the 'Sin Cross as he reappeared mere steps away from the _flaming bottle_s strewn pieces.

Could it be that _hell's fire_ fear to advance to such a _mere_ mortal?

"Caught me once, Alchemist." The Assassin Cross drawled coolly at the same time as he righted his composure by rising to his dauntingly full-height bearing his _Infiltrator_'s blades to the fires red-and-orange glow. "Never aspire for it to ensue again—it'll prove disappointing."

Through the inferno and smoke, Adrienne eyed the man standing mere strode away from her, his face turned away from her. He was so close enough to touch and _yet_—he deemed the notion of possessing an enigma of _un_touchability.

An atmosphere of awe and dread hung over them like a lackluster cloud. No one seemed to know what to do next. He reappeared, just a mere step from where he stood an eye blink ago… He inched closer to Portia.

"_Lex Divina_!" Adrienne chanted with all heartiness she dare rally up against her guilds opponent. The heady, blissful feeling of his close proximity was gone without any regret. This man was treating Portia! Her eyes burned with vehemence and loathing.

He opened his mouth but the sound never came. He—the Assassin Cross—_Hellish_ _Eyes_ eyed Aid with eyes manifestly torn between amusement (most likely, at her vain endeavor to divert him) and sheer sorrow.

She didn't know how that _nom de plume_ for him came to her. But it seemed quite timely as the fiery scenario gave his whatever-hued eyes a blistering fired-up look.

Hellish eyes were still on her. Through the stifling smoke and the darkness assembled by the fast approaching dusk, she could make-out of his mouth curling upwards into what people would dub a grin—a mocking one.

For a few perilous moments, he stood there… Then, like lightning, a second figure appeared behind him, swiftly wrapping a strip of red fabric over him—they disappeared just as a shower of arrows planted themselves to the site they were on.

In a distance, a call was made—_reinforcements_, it exclaimed.

The Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus recognized that melodic wailing—it was the sound their brethren and kin's trumpets and horns. It was the _Furies_' call. They had come to _Cerberus'_ assistance. It did not take long. A second call was made—judging from the wave of disbelief and forced resignation, it was a retreat.

Cyfton Castle is out of harm's way—until the next siege that is.

Adrienne felt her body wilted in physical and emotional fatigue whilst she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew she would be fine, so she didn't really lie to Greig when he practically flew to her once it was assured the enemy had already withdrew and asked her so.

He busied himself at her _Ankle Snare_d foot. She fought off the desire to scream out of pain as he removed the trap—_acquaint me if a broken ankle indeedly so, does not hurt?_ Aid countered in her thoughts once Maltese shot her a searing glare while she removed the traps hidden on the castles floor.

But the cherry blossom pink haired huntress's intensely irked eyes were nil in contrast to that of the enemy Assassin Cross's, Aid thought and at the same time, permitting Greig to assist her unto her feet. The dark-brown haired Sniper supported her by taking her by the arm and have her limped all the way into the Guild House's interior.

Yet her thoughts were elsewhere. "_Those eyes… they deemed hellish in nature—such hellish eyes_."

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End of **Chapter Four**

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Author's Notes: How was it? I have to admit, it's kinda flimsy _to me_. Flimsy, given the fact that I've only been into a Castle Siege only twice (and the priestess-character I used wasn't even mine to begin with!). C'mon, let's face it… who would bring their base-level52 Archer to a WoE? It's darn appalling, that's what it is! Ü! Of course I'm being harsh on myself…lolz

I'd like to say "**RO**k on!" and my many thanks to the foxy lady who loaned me her on-line character with her supervision, of course! for, probably the only _two_ _WoE_ experiences I ever had.

My experience with her character during the siege and siege-defense was hilarious. I wasn't so sure I could have incorporated the _actual_ events during that siege day—they were quite silly, actually. But nonetheless, the idea of what a WoE is like when actually there—defending/attacking—was what I really needed. And thanks to her and her silly, silly, silly, silly and _loud_ guild mates (**/Omg**,** /doridori **and** /shy**), I got what I needed to compose this chapter. I pray that I've done them justice. **/hmm**

**RO**k on my dear readers!

"Blessing!"

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	5. Beneath the Dawning Light

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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Summary: Assassin x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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Author's Notes: Greetings, guys! Sincerely speaking, I have no concrete reason for this chapters delay… but if you must know it was the combination of procrastination brought forth by balancing the demands of my SIMS (I'm playing SIMS2 by the way! _ü_) and of schoolwork, schoolwork, schoolwork! And now summer is here again (in the Philippines, our summer vacation spans from mid-March to early-June) but, being a graduating student it still isn't officially summer vacation—can you say 'graduation rites practice'? **sigh**

Firstly, I apologize with the inconvenience my 'CENTER' format brought upon you guys--I pray, this would be better. Although it practically took me forever to post this chapter, I'm happy you're all still here... unceasingly reviewing. My great, amany (if there's such a word) _thank you_'s to all the beautiful people who reviewed!

As always, this is for the mighty Odin and for you guys!

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**Chapter Five**: Beneath the Dawning Light

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"How is he?" a rather throaty woman's voice inquired warily. The voice's owner stepped out the shadows and into the full-moon's light as it sprayed itself though Dooms Doors' fortress_—Mesopotamia_'s windows. The brightly burning candles recreating the guise of freely flowing blood on her blood-red curls as she paced past them to where a lone white-and-red robed elderly man was astride, his Golden Mace at hand.

"Not too good, I'm afraid. He's sleeping as of this moment. The tonic I've given should alleviate him—however, that Militian Priestess's _Lex Divina_ got him good." A salt and pepper haired _High Priest_ with dark brown eyes answered the blood-red haired Rogue. He took her by the arm and purposely escorted her to the room's entry, "T'would be for the best if you head off, Lady Gavan. Leave the lad to recuperate. That war-happy chap we call guild master, Enid can instill his wrath after Bloodbath has done so."

Hela Gavan's pale-amber eyes followed the healer and High Priest, Clemintin Urnein's extended finger to Bloodbath's stature curled up and motionless upon the make-shift stretcher bed positioned in the far corner close to the 2-meter width, black marble fireplace of _Mesopotamia_'s recovery wing. The Assassin Cross's back to them, his form bathed in moonlight and the glowing embers from the hearth.

"From what I've heard," the High Priest mused turning to the lady-Rogue as he absentmindedly stroked his long, graying beard, "if it weren't for _you_ the lad yonder mayhap been among the fallen in Cyfton's today's afternoon's skirmish."

The thirty-one summers (or years) old Rogue chuckled inwardly so that she seem not too uncouth to the only sincerely well-mannered individual in the guild Dooms Doors at the elderly healer's choice of words.

The Assassin Cross's resting state perfunctorily rendered an atypical boyish charm which, Hela supposed Clemintin mistaken for an infantile attribute. Thinking to herself, she averred, "You're sadly mistaken, High Priest. There's nothing '_laddish_' about Bloodbath." Outwardly, Hela simply raised either of her shoulders in an evasive manner. She didn't want another rumor circling around Mesopotamia about her and Bloodbath. _Not good for my guise before Enid_.

A low whimper of hurt caught the healer's attention and disrupted the atmosphere of noiseless recuperation. Clemintin politely excused himself and practically flew at light speed to be alongside a young hunter who was tossing uncomfortably on his bed space.

Hela sighed monotonously as the High Priest flipped his hand in a gesture of dismissal. She had no alternative but to take her leave. With a brief toss of her blood-red colored head she bid the healer adieu. She seethingly marched through the recovery rooms massive oak after tossing a heavy-lidded glance at Bloodbath's inert form.

_It is pointless to vigil over someone who was sicker in sprit than in body._ She mumbled._ If that Sin Cross desires to stagger in self-loath, then it's his alone to endure! I see no point in deterring him—he makes his own decisions, for Odin's sake!_

The Dooms Doors' _Goddess of Death_ was eminent to be knowledgeable of every tidbit of information available about the guilds silver-haired Assassin Cross. Though the information was very, very, very, very poor in _quantity_, every one of them was guaranteed to be the best in _quality_. Quantity of such did not appease her—she needed to know everything about him! It infuriated her that she couldn't enforce her will on him. Knowledge was power to Hela.

No one has ever dared to challenge her whim—she knew all the right information about a person to make or break him or her. With the exception of this particular moon-silver haired young man whose name was still unknown though he has been with them for years now, so the guild had no choice but to call by his _nom de plume_ 'Bloodbath'; was a great puzzle to her.

Her rule may not be unswervingly imposed on him but in certain occasions when she was certain he would contradict her orders he actually goes out of his way and do what was needed of him—she knew that he knew that she knew of the trouble she'd be in with _Enid_ if he show opposition toward her. It was like—compassion… but hidden under the pretense of total indifference except for the money.

Bluntly speaking, she was moved as well as curious. She needed to understand how he thinks and why he acts as such. Hela Gavan was not use to such treatment—unsure of how to act in response, she needed to do the next best thing: _intimidate_ the information out of him through the dirtiest trick in the book—seduction.

_Ha! That'll be the day!_ She scoffed struggling to close the rooms thick and heavy wooden doors. _I'm willing to bet that man has ice instead of blood coursing in his veins. He's beyond possible seduction—like some chastised saint, for Loki sake! An ice-blooded saint! Cold as his frost-white hair!_

_Blast it!_ Hela cursed under her breath, striding along Mesopotamia's elaborately decorated hallways (all pillaged, of course!) advancing to Doom Doors' guild masters' chambers. _Until he decides to come out of his self-pity_, her high-heeled steps became brisker as she expressed fumingly at not only to Bloodbath's remorseless no-share air but for her frustration to change his mind, _I have no other alternative but to be contented with this poor excuse of a dossier_…

"_Bloodbath—real name: unknown; age: six and twenty winters (years); birthplace: unknown; hair: (duh!) moon-silver; eyes: (a BIG, duh!) dark, sinister indigo-blue; job: Assassin Cross (an even BIGGER, DUH!); place of origin prior to joining the guild: Morroc. Remark(s) on Bloodbath: 1. Reason of joining the guild is indistinct—be wary—although he professes to be in it for prestige and riches. 2. Notorious long before his enlistment into the guild—may not need guild after all—again, be wary. 3. Past is greatly left unto the unknown. 4. Secretive and mysterious as hell! 5. Strongly suggests (understand word as: _demand_) to be left alone. 6. He has a (based on rumors, false or fact—verify!) link with Izlude."_

_Great Loki, _Hela prayed, pausing before a huge, floor length, wood-graved door recognized to be the entrance of Enid Juvse private realm, she distractedly began toying with a lock of her bloody-hued hair before continuing… _Is this all you have to impart unto me_? _Oh great and crafty trickster, do not renounce this humble servant of yours—assist me to obtain what I dearly covet_._ All this I do not only for myself but for the greater acclaim of your grand plan for total mischief_.

With her slender back leaned against the closed frames, she recomposed herself. Bracing herself for the verbal thrashing she would undoubtedly be given, she planted a coy, credible haughty grin on her lips and entered the chamber…

Inside, she not only will she offer her verbal explanations of why she was tardy but also orally exhibit them to the Doom Door's heartless guild master.

Thus veritable rationale why she needed her guise before Enid untarnished with rumors of her and Bloodbath. Regardless of her fondness for the Sin Cross—in a whole younger brother kind of way—she cannot overlook the fact that people have the tendency to _assume_—rather than to _seek out_ the truth. So, to avoid undoing the mistakes of others—she had simply imposed obvious actions that prevent people from committing a mistake in the first place.

Hela began stripping out of her sinfully red bolero jacket with deliberate slowness for the hungry eyes peering unto her from the shadows cast by the bed's lavishly wide velvet canopies.

The lady-Rogue prided herself for being a smart chick—that is why ("DUH!") she became a Rogue. "All is fair in love and war!" Both figuratively and literally speaking…

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The emerging sun shined quite fairly this pristine morn. There was naught a dreary cloud upon Prontera City's sapphire-hued skies. Beyond this massive stone window atop one of the Cyfton Castles' highest towers, the Order of Cerberus' young guild master caught the guise of a good omen.

_Or could it possibly be… I only wished it so_?

Damon Chantal was still dressed in his full amour of silver-steel portions covered with bloodstains, his leather gauntleted hands positioned palms down unto the stone windowsill alongside his helm. It was but a few hours ago he bid his aunt and uncle adieu, thanking them and their guild members for coming to the assistance of the Cyfton Castle. Although he was sternly told by his aunt, Juniper to catch up some sleep after sending them off, Damon splurge the wee hours of the night sent instructions to the sentinels to keep a vigilant watch and underwent on a rampage all over the castle—searching for enemy spies lurking about (He found not one).

It was but an hour ago, when he was convinced by the Order of Cereberus' _Iron Maiden_, Mackenzie Ashencastle that he would be of no use if he remained up and about, catch ail whilst the enemy return and he would be far from capable to battle.

He was in the middle of determining the entirety of damage received by Cyfton during the siege, but the darn female persisted! Grudgingly nursing the impact of her words (he dare not acknowledge aloud), he headed for his room like a child of six by the five and twenty year old, brick-red haired, pale green eyed female Lord Knight, who practically enacted a role of an officious mother. Damon mounted up the winding, circular stone steps to his chambers—only to side step and enter his fathers (now that he was the guild master—this was _his_) study.

At a glance he looked like any other individual looking at the sun rise, but at the moment he was far from doing so… His mind was far from the task at hand…

_Weary I may be sleep was naught but a reverie of_ _impracticality_. The scenes from the yester afternoon's siege fresh and vivid in his minds eye, Damon recollected it all. Every detail of the sights, the smells, the sounds, the taste and the sensations came alive—as if he was reliving the moment but this time around he was the spectator. Like an outsider looking in, he sees himself mounting on his Peco-Peco and charging into battle with his Poll Axe at hand.

Within minutes of the battle, he was smeared with his own and his adversary's blood, his weaponry flexed to and fro in attempt to flay the enemy, he was vaguely aware that he was expecting to see his father battling alongside him.

That was what striked him the most! What he saw—what he smelled—what he heard—what he tasted—what he felt—what he did… _Everything I did yesterday was to impress a man I buried six feet under earlier that morn_. He chuckled most unusually perceiving the satire he faced.

Sensing someone by the doorframe of his chamber, Damon tore his steel-blue eyes away the dawning panorama as it cast a strikingly orange luminance over the great city's numerous rooftops to the all-too-perfect porcelain features of the some six-and-twenty year old lady-Sage as she emerged. She filled his dreary room with a sense of sunshine and optimism… 'Twas what her very personality as well as her sunlit features rouse.

She curtsied, spilling her long, glossy, sunlight blond doll-curled tresses past those graceful sloping shoulders of hers. "My good wishes, your lordship, I am here to account the entirety of the damage upon the Cyfton and our braves both the injured and demised." Her greeting was warm and respectful despite the severity of news she apparently was about to convey unto him. _That's Genesis Birdeen for you._ Damon thought,_ Officially, hailed as the guilds_ 'Worn-out Page'_. And unofficially, 'Miss_ Sunshine'_ for her sunny and optimistic temperament._

"Very well, Miss Birdeen, you have my attention. Do go on." Damon replied with much calm he could muster, and roughly forcing his mouth not to coil into a smile at the warm shot of pleasure that the sight of her unscathed brought upon his senses.

"_It's most unbecoming for a gentleman (especially a _Knight—what more a LORD KINGHT?_) to smile—smirking is a must in intimidating an opponent—grinning is quite tolerable, on an occasion of superiority. But leave the act of _smiling_ itself, to the blushing maidens and the _bemused_ men_." That was what he was told. And Damon Chantal _always_ listened to what he had been told. It was how it has always been and so shall it be perpetually.

But such inept notions didn't stop Damon from thinking of Genesis Birdeen as a lovely sight, perhaps it was the way her sunlit hair mirrored dawn's rays or perhaps it was the way her nose crinkles slightly whenever she emphasis a point. Damon caught himself distracted… Like the norm or on every occasion Genesis was around—he was behaving like a witless youth! Coughing purposely, he sternly reprimanded himself and then apologetically asked Genesis–_Gen_ to continue.

"First and for most, sir, I would apologize for barging into your rest time without as much an announcement."

"No harm had been done, Miss Birdeen."

"Oh? That's wonderful." Her light and femininely high tone grew solemn, "Well, your lordship, tasked am I by Miss Ashencastle to convey the record of the total damage upon the castle. According to Mackie—_uh_, I mean, Miss Ashencastle's findings there is to be major repairs on the southern walls of the castle. She suggests tha—_huh_?" She looked up when a feral laughter escaped Damon before he could restrain himself. "You laugh, sir, whatever for?"

"Are sure that the Iron Maiden—_suggested_?"

The blond curled Sage reddened as she hung her head in guiltiness, "Ah, well you see, your lordship, I took the liberty of _paraphrasing_ for Mackie. She actually said—" She saw the dark expression on his face, "_Oh sir_! You must not detest her… She has this temperament to state things pitilessly but she truly means well… She is the most wonderful of friends, the most loyal of comrades…"

Damon grinned, liking the way this beautiful young woman was getting all flustered as she loyally protecting the honor of 'Mackie' Ashencastle. He wondered if she would get flustered if would walk over to her and brush that stray lock of hair away from her face, put his hands over her shoulders as he would straightforwardly assert that he care naught for that mean brick-red haired hag, she avowed in one way or another as her best friend.

Genesis was about to articulate more when unexpectedly a second physique manifested in the wake of her yet some degree was hidden in the shade shed by dawns light. The blonde Sage's almond-shaped, dark brown eyes warmed predictably at the vista of their guildmate the _Jewel of Prayer_—Adrienne Luex.

"My lord," The priestess addressed the raven-black haired Lord Knight, "Pray that you absolve me for interrupting your respite but…" Adrienne caught a panorama of the blond Sage. Her silver eyes lit with mischief. "Oh! And to you as well, Miss Birdeen, I have seemingly disrupted your discussions. Forgive me, but I was led to believe that his lordship has sent for me."

"You believed right. Come forward, priestess." The Lord Knight absent-mindedly strode over behind his desk, sat behind the massive wooden desk.

_It was an unconscious gesticulation when ever he felt unsettled_. _He needed the fortitude of the authorative-looking desk as reinforcement to his state of mind. _The young priestess mused. Her midnight blue hued head inclined in innate insentience of decorum, with the same fluid motion she rose from her bended knee and entered the chamber.

Electric-blue eyes grew humorless at the clearer sight of the priestess's unanimously-known graceful gait that was now minimized to a faintly wounded-limping pace.

His eyes flicker over to her fine sculpted, high cheekbones and noticed they were a bit more prominent owed to the lack of rest, along with that distinctive weariness in those stunningly silver-gray eyes that were partially hidden beneath beautifully arched thick, dark hued lashes.

His jaws were set in a rigid granite state whilst bathing in guilt and deem ineptness after stealing a glance at the blond Sage, she had the same prominence due to fatigue in the features he so adored, regardless of how subtle they were.

_All were not but incapacitated_. Several of his comrades lay in Cyfton's Grand Hall a vast majority of them seriously wounded from yesterday's endeavors to keep the castle. _The Bringer of Tempests_ inwardly shuddered with rage. Others were dead because of him!

Damon knew there were others less lucky than he, that's why he trusted to be justly blameworthy. Carried upon those broad shoulders of his the very lives of his guild members for it is he who they regarded with their confidence and expectations.

"I pray that you're not badly injured from yesterday's siege." The priestess voice spoke up, blissfully interrupting his thoughts. Damon made a mental note to express gratitude her for the timely distraction. Adrienne done that intentionally, this Damon knew for a fact.

"I am quite well. Thank you for the kind inquisition, Miss Luex. But I deem you're not solely here in query of my wellbeing whist there are men battling to maintain their lives right beneath these very stone floorboards—that you and the rest of the healers are so desperately made every effort to restrengthen. Problems aloft, madam?"

Adrienne knew he meant not to be somewhat crude and distracted. _Did he or did he not send for me_? She further sensed the very same foreboding in Damon Chantal when his father lay wilted in his sickbed. She—as well as the others (especially those who grew alongside with him since that catastrophic monster-summoning in Payon some eleven years past and _long_ prior to that) knew of the burden of responsibility and leadership that loomed over his raven-black head from his cradle.

_A very understandable disposition he is in now_, she thought sympathetically, _he has every claim to be_. Casting a fleeting look at Genesis in the corner of her eye, she bit back a telling smile. _If you knew, Gen. Then you wouldn't have to restrain yourself from comforting him in his bereavement._

"Aye sir 'tis true, a problem is indeed about." Aid agreed. "The castles provisions—the potions and remedies, herbs, juices and other rations they will not last under inordinate demands, particularly from the wounded. The healers and alchemists have exhausted their all and they _too_ are injured."

The _Jewel of Prayer_ paused in effort to evoke the disheartened weeping of her comrades into her minds eye—she need not her own self-importance to reign over her many friends who were in worst shape than she and required her to convey their needs to the guild master. "Apologetic am I for the lack of ability to repress the situation. Our all, sir…" her firm tone of voice wavered unusually in guilt and meekness, "it isn't enough."

Damon nodded briskly, slightly embarrassed that he have not perceived the problem, not that of Adrienne's admission of ineptitude. _Distracted, Chantal_?_ Focus on the problem at hand, not on Gen, dammit_!

The young Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus's guild master turned to them his voice unexpectedly brusque and methodical. Damon willed that his performance would mislead both young misses of his benevolent side when he nodded and addressed the blond lady-Sage, "Miss Birdeen. Comprehend that I want you to organize an able-bodied party of seven—including yourself and the _Jewel of Prayer_ and visit the town's marketplace, purchase whatever we lack and need—provisions and armaments—for fear and heaven forbid we have to withstand another siege."

"I comprehend, sir." Genesis responded with that disarming smile of hers.

"That would be all… happy hunting, ladies." Another nod of his head exemplified his dismissal of the pair.

"Thank you, sir. We bid you a good day." The pair said, bowing in unison, and heading for the chamber's egress.

Damon didn't beam but his eyes lit up considerably at Gen's smile. He wouldn't have known what he subconsciously did, if he did not sensed Adrienne biting back one of her indecipherable smiles which often expressed her perceptive inference of one's _true_ feelings. He was now inwardly dreading that he already conveyed what was already ample in meaning.

That knowing smile did not falter from the Jewel of Prayer's countenance—bewitched with what she thought of the lopsided emotions that held rein over him all though out this dialogue, he called her back. "Cease your haste, Miss Luex." Sighting of Genesis halting at an equal instant, he promptly voiced, "Organize that party of seven, _Worn-Out Page_. The _Jewel_ will with you shortly."

"Aye, your lordship," the blond said slowly undertaking to keep the mar of the rushed dismissal out of her tone, "it shall be done." The use of one's epithet by anyone in Militia was considered very polite and to some extent _soooo_ civil that it denoted that the one called so was to be prompted of their rank. Genesis left their company with her chin lifted and her eyes tetchy.

Groaning raucously, Damon dropped his dark head onto his folded arms on the massive desk, "What did I do to have driven that type reaction from _the_ most cordial woman in the guild?"

"Sir _Bringer of Tempests_?" Adrienne asked in mock artlessness however she emphasized shrewdly, in knowing that he'd realize her meaning.

She wasn't mistaken in assuming so as he inquired. "I used her guild epithet?"

"You did, _sir_."

He had the sudden urge to throw his head against the cold stone walls of his chamber as reimbursement. Ostensibly, afraid to acknowledge that he was indeed going mad over a pretty face (not to mention the amiable character that went with it), he asked instead. "Was I too overt with my performance, _Aid_?"

Damon was apparently and finally coming off of his 'decorously impersonal' sedation… but a tad bit too late—She, on the other hand could see right through him while Gen couldn't. Adrienne giggled at his naivety when it came to charming Genesis Birdeen… and at Gen to Damon Chantal. _So. That's what happens when emotions cloud your judgment_. "On the contrary, Damon, you were especially compelling, I just about believe your spoken follies!"

"But _you_ didn't." Damon pointed out, despairingly. "Whilst she got deluded."

"You could have returned the favor, Damon," The _Jewel of Prayer_ suggested sternly. "She was more that such amid you. The least you could have accomplished for her was an attempt or rather—the act itself of being plain-spoken amid her."

When Damon failed to come up with a response of any sort, Adrienne reached over his leather gauntleted hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He was like an older brother to her and he treated her like a kid sister—she loved him for it. She didn't want him deprived of anything—as she wasn't deprived anything when she was adopted into his father's guild and his family unconditionally. Condition may not have been given nor were they expected to be returned, she wanted to do this for him. She owe it to his father, she loved her older 'brother'. "You don't have to be so hard on yourself by heeding my assessments. I am naught but a human being who like everyone self manages to do blunders."

"But," He griped as he was heartened that she took upon herself to be self-effacing just to make him feel better, "everyone esteem your profound assessments—of which transpire to be more than truthful."

"_Human_." Adrienne persisted calmly. "Reckon the reality 'tis only I who persist with such obtuse frivolity. Sir," she began her silver-gray eyes luminously solemn, "you should bring upon yourself to disallow me from speaking any more of my advices — seeing that they are taken so seriously, when they shouldn't be."

"_Esteem_, Aid." Damon repeated before avowing. "We esteem you for it and so we heed them." Then, he countered by holding up his free gauntleted hand and ultimately silencing her protest. "It is you who brought upon yourself to speak so openly that rouse us to be the same. As you call it, we're simply returning the favor."

The Bringer of Tempests grinned at the scowl of indifference that never failed to cross this particular priestess' countenance whenever imparted with a superfluous compliment. "I know that scowl, you disagree with me. Aye and I can distinguish it. You can be such an open book, you know?"

"I have no knowledge of what you are speaking of." The young priestess murmured her pretended naïveté.

"I meant to say, that you disagree with me simply because _I am_ that exception. 'Tis I, who has not been that assertive to have spoken openly with what is in here." His leather gauntleted hand dropped down to his gleaming yet bloodstained silver chest plate.

Adrienne's silver gaze flew to his face but nonentity was said by her. _He knows what I think of his procrastination in telling dear Gen of his feelings for her? I don't give too much acclaim for being that interpersonal_.

"You appear astonished, madam." The guild master expressed in good humor, clearly amused with that outspoken expression chiseled upon her beautiful features.

_I should stop wearing my heart in my darn sleeve._ She cautioned herself severely. _Pretty soon, Adrienne ol' girl, you'd begin to believe what you pretend to be._ "I guess, even I can learn a thing or two, Damon."

"Learn?"

"Aye, learn. Learn that I ought to have more faith in other people." Adrienne laughed sheepishly, "There are some things that people do not need priestesses for."

"Nay Aid, do not suppose of it that way. You're rendering the notion that you're wholly ineffectual of helping another soul." Seeing her nothing but dubious, it was Damon's turn to take her slender hand into his; patting the back her hand in a brotherly fashion. "You proffer the all the possible pro's of having faith. People are now better off, because you undertake that for them—may it be upfront or wary—done or implied."

Touched—the Jewel of Prayer laughed deliberately, putting off the stinging of her eyes where tears threatened to spill. Her voice firm with charade of haughtiness, "You better know it, Damon. And as your adviser on the matter of Miss Birdeen I anticipate you to do something about Miss _Worn-Out Page_."

Damon gave her lopsided grin of his, "Did you or did you not advise me _not_ to heed your advices?"

"_Sir_," Adrienne melodious tone hiked up imperiously as she raised a well-shaped eyebrow conspiringly. "Do you have proclivity to quarrel me with all that mocking? Oh, how ungentlemanly of you! Shame on you!"

"Now that we're breeched the topic on shame…" His tenor was serious, like the one's he used every time he was amongst his parchments of skirmish and battle stratagems. She understood him—Adrienne knows him better than does himself that he knew for certain. That is was the precise rationale why he esteemed her honest-to-goodness assessments. Whilst she was free to assume and do at her own pace of learning, he was taught what he was supposed to think and do, no questions asked. Damon admired the unbiased way she thought and perceived things, he needed that 'second opinion' to establish equilibrium of heart and psyche. "Shameful was I do have hid that from her, Aid?"

"_Shameful_, is such a severe word for it. But before I give you any advice, you must to promise to drop the act, do we have an accord?"

"We do now. I promise."

Adrienne beamed most becomingly, as she gushed "Finally! Okay, I feel that a simple enlightenment of what you think and feel for her will do wonders. Do not waste any opportunity that comes you way. However," she winked at him to emphasize what she merely implied, "do not go on and say that unexpectedly—it mayhap will alarm her. (_Unlikely_, she thought deviously, _especially when she likes you more that she's willing to confess._) Suggestive, subtle, immense quantity but must be undertaken gradually. Pretty soon, she'll grasp your meaning."

His raven-black head bobbed to and fro in grave acquiescence indicating that he heeded her words. Grinning at the fact he was correct of knowing her to know him thoroughly, "You know me all too well, silver eyes."

"It has been quite a while since you used that nickname of mine." Adrienne mused inaudibly.

"Indeed." The young guild master whispered, wondering to himself what provoked him into using it after such along time. After a moment he pronounced, "Well, well… I guess we have dawdled long enough. Will the _Worn-Out Pa_—"

Adrienne purposely cleared her throat, giving him a didn't-you-just-promise-to-drop-the-act look.

"My apologies, I meant to say Genesi—"

"Damon!" She whipped, she wanted him to use her nickname _Gen_.

There was suppressed mirth in Damon deep, baritone tone. "You can be such a pain in the rear, Adrienne."

"Cease stalling! You're delaying me, of which by the way could infuriate her all the more! Remember the epithet?" Adrienne highlighted the reality that she was losing her patience. "That dented her obsequiousness of you, Damon. Apologize, all right?"

A raven black head nodded in acquiescence that he heeded her words. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you get all flustered."

"And you're a big, sadistic tormentor ever since you were sixteen and I, thirteen."

Damon just laughed it off, "Were you or were you not in an urgency to depart?"

"I ought to dally and paint you as someone bad and evil for delaying me so long!!"

"Ahh," The raven haired eight and twenty year old young man drawled languidly. "Empty threats, madam."

Adrienne pouted childishly. "I know that. There is really no threatening you is there, Damon?" Shaking her dark head in resignation, she curtsied and strode swiftly as her limping pace would allow.

His steely blue eyes hurled themselves back to the dawning panorama and back to melancholy of his thoughts.

No matter what people did to brighten his state. It was often for naught.

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_Strange things ensue whilst one dreams…_

_In dreaming, something often overlooked in wakefulness is put into the limelight of scrutiny. Every sight, smell, sound, taste, and sensation was heightened beyond the norm! _

_But no matter how much you strain to scrutinize, you are still powerless to change any of it. Whatever things that transpire in the past remain the same—and eternally mocking._

Bloodbath shifted in his cot, his slightly long silver mane glistering like the shapeless liquid beneath the full moon's light that penetrated the window's glass pane when he rolled unto his side, facing the dimly glowing embers in the hearth.

He sensed the stillness of the room—_Good_, he thought, sitting up. He wasn't ready to confront anyone especially when it was because of him the entire plan to cease Cyfton Castle failed. He unceremoniously flung the heavy comforters off his wonderfully lean yet well-built body unto the recovery wings stone flooring.

He strode past his sleeping guild mates with that unconscious predatory grace in every stride of his to the room's window. Zach perched a hip over the stone window still, eyes forward unto the starlit view of the barren Morrocan desert. The night was bitterly cold. Hottest at morn, coldest at night—the desert was as such since time immemorial.

_I bet, in Prontera they don't have cold nights like this_… he thought reflexively rubbing his shoulders for warmth, _But right now, given the time difference_,_ 'twould be dawning in Prontera_…

The occupant of the cot nearest to him shifted in her sleep, so Bloodbath noticed. Her short burgundy hair was in slumbers wild disarray, sections of it plastered unto her tanned face with heavy beads of sweat. She would have been better-looking if not for that fresh scar close to her left temple, if not for that ugly bruise on her lower jaw, if not for that visually missing right arm hidden behind heavy layers of bloodstained bandages.

Bloodbath shuddered with guilt—if he had accomplished his mission of infiltrating Cyfton's Emperium room and destroy the darn symbol of the Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus's guild unity—this much mar wouldn't have happen unto this woman.

_Dammit_! He couldn't stand the ugly sight of what his failure ensued. Bloodbath pushed the glass-stained windows back and eased himself though it while gripping the windows stone hedge with a killer's death-grip, he started to climb up the castles dark-stoned exterior…

Astride Mesopotamia's black-hued _terra coata_ tiled roof, he felt his body shivered faintly against the icy breeze that hit him. His weary body urged him to get some rest… But Zach never did find solace in sleeping—every time he shuts his eyes in hope to find some peace, like what the darn activity offered to the rest of the populace, it only offer him a recap of the blood he spilled—the cries he invoked—all the horrific things he had done in his toil to exist!

Zachary always pushed himself to the extreme until such time his body was too weary for thoughts to plague him. Such notions of 'anti-sleeping' were drawn from the habit of staying up late during his days as a simple, independent yet equally effective _Assassin_. His past conquests, he scoffed bitingly, didn't really matter at the moment…

His jaws were rigidly set, _What mattered_… his dark indigo-blue eyes veiled behind his closed eyelids, invoking the correct memory to his minds eye… _are those silver eyes_… _those beautiful pair of silver eyes_… _And how they made me fail for the first time in my career as an Assassin Cross!_

Bloodbath's clenched fist smashed unto the roofing tiles in resentment, _I knew that was you by Cyfton's entrance_—_like I knew it was you long prior to when you threw off your cloak and presented yourself before King Tristan_! _Damn you, Luex_! _There wasn't even any recollection when those eyes of yours settled on _me! _They e__ndowed me no consolation whatsoever, you dammed female_!

His eyes shifted in contemplation, flickering over the full moon looming overhead before he turned away.

Zach's mind was already made up—he knew what needed to do… he knew the consequences that would ensue. But at the moment—those eyes tell him they were worth it…

_You'll pay_…

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"_Pretty dove in a cage,_

_Solemn in all her rage._

_A mask of innocence to calm winters,_

'_Tis a front that ne'er withers_."

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End of **Chapter Five**

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Author's Notes: (sigh) For some reason the expression 'Duh' hasn't lost its appeal to the graduating students. It has been repeatedly used beyond tolerance not only during the graduation rites practices but in this chapter. I apologize for that, especially if you were riled (like my loyal manuscript reader—Miss X!).

Please keep the reviews coming, I pray I don't seem demanding when I appeal to you guys to be specific of my errors so that I may amend them and you do not have to reiterate yourself. Any suggestions, thoughts and ideas for this fanfic/story would be most esteemed. My utmost gratitude to any assistance you can offer me for this fanfics next chapter.

I would like to take this opportunity to tell Miss X that I didn't mean to leave the handwritten manuscript of this chapter (specifically of Zach's escape scene) in the school chapel during our practice! It's not my fault if those darn nuns (who conducted the practice) took it and (God knows) burn it for its content (and who could blame them? ehehe!)! I'm publicly announcing this fact in hope that Miss X would believe me if you guys do! You see, she shared some of her smart-ass retorts as I was writing the scene. Now that I lost that darn piece of paper—she loathes me! (I mean, is that even reason enough?) (frowns) Fine! So the scene's 'philosophizing' jibber jabbers (some of it hers) weren't fully harnessed to its literary/poetic perfection (so she says—not me!). Because, lets face it what I wrote was purely out of memory. _UGH_! Will somebody please knock some sense (in addition to a regularly functioning heart!) into this _Chica Bonita_…? (sighs exhaustedly) Ooooookay that does it, shoves Miss X away from computer monitor Get off, X! (snatches back the keyboard from X's clear/sparkly-nail-polished-talon-like grip) Waah, someone please strangle X while you're at it with your review!??

I impart unto you, readers the unstinted blessings from the almighty Odin! See y'all in the next chapter some time soon! My many, many, many thanks and **RO**k on!

Oh bite me, X.

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	6. Crossing Thresholds

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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Summary: Assassin x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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Author's Notes: Yeah! I'm so thrilled to have graduated from high school. And the idea of having all this free time to write—given that college is where we can set our schedule—I simply can't wait…but is this a promise of more free time to write? Dear God, may it be so…

My thanks to all the beautiful people who reviewed! And to the all the more beautiful who helped me stitch-up this chapter together by simply listening to me blab, blab, and blab during out grad practices.

CONGRATULATIONS to the all Batch 2005-2006 graduates! Brave the world of college, flaunting what you _are_—not what you _have_! **RO**k on, everyone!

Everything comes to past. We begin new chapter of our lives—and of this fanfic.

**./go**

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**Chapter Six**: Crossing Thresholds

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Cyfton Castle's massive draw bridge made a thunderous thump as it hit the ground. As the dust receded, a party of seven trotted across it and made their way en route to Prontera City's marketplace.

At high noon, the party was still exhausted from touring the marketplace but to still no avail. Due to the guild siege that occurred the day before the supplies were sparse or simply out-of-stock.

The female Lord Knight perched a gauntleted fist on her chain mail-cased hip, her pale green eyes narrowed as if the whitesmith, Van Theichmacer was madman foaming at the mouth. "Commonsensical, to be sure, but that does not imply it is the best course."

Van's pale blue hair swayed underneath his _Boy's Cap_ in negation, remarking most persistently with a hint of sarcasm which peeved Mackenzie all the more, "…and the best course you deem correct, is but your own?" He caught his breathe when her pale green eyes bore down cheekily on him, but continued nonetheless. "I petition, _Iron Maiden_, to thoughtfully step out of your one-tract mind and hear out a proposal…"

The Iron Maiden's eyes traveled to the weary faces of her party mates and reluctantly considered it. "Speak up, sir."

"I suggest we head off to the Labyrinth Forest in the Prontera were wild animals, monsters and game is plentiful. 'Tis the best way possible way—for it include the completion of our party objective at the same time each individual here's personal advancement. We obtain the provisions we need, initially allocated to buy the items with thus saving the zenny, set out skills to practice and obviously, get the exercise we need."

As Mackenzie listened her countenance grew more mutinous, but softened at the sight Genesis nodding her golden head. "Very well, we shall hunt…" Her gaze traveled to Portia Faunt looked eager enough although her nose was stuck to her slim potion manual, "An inventory of all the items you will require to concoct your potions." To Adrienne, she queried. "Can you manage a Lord Knight, Sage, Whitesmith, Alchemist, Assassin Cross, Champion and yourself in this proposed venture?"

The priestess nodded vehemently, "'Tis my oath to serve and support, Mackie. I _will_ manage."

"Well said. We shall expect no less, Jewel of Prayer." And with that, she steered her peco-peco ride to the head of the line. "Move out."

Mathieu Cruxhart nudged Aid from her distracted state. "Don't read so much into that. You know the knight-class fancy the practice of formalities and enforce whiffs of arrogant authority. Relax a tad more, Aid. I'll help out by supporting the party. Though I chose to become a monk, then a Champion over the cleric robes you now wear. I was once an acolyte too, you know…?"

Adrienne smiled at the pony-tailed, platinum-blonde Champion dubbed '_Extremist_' in the guild. "You are very kind, Mathieu. I shall be most appreciative of any assistance you bequeath."

The Assassin Cross, Lexender Niehlm snickered at the pair. "Let az be 'Off," he prodded. His spiky onyx-black hair and big blue eyes bold contrasts to the red-muffler he tightened over his neck and face and trailed the group out the Prontera's colossal stone walls and into the awaiting forest.

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The journey into the Labyrinth Forest— the closest forest in the locale —took just about the entire afternoon. By the time the setting sun began painting hues of red, burgundy and mauve, Mackenzie gathered Lexender—the Sin Cross, Mathieu—the Champion and Genesis to strategize while rest of the group was scattered about the maze that is the forest collecting red, yellow, blue, white, green and et cetera colored plants for the Alchemist's potions and other brews.

The wind caught the folds of Genesis's Sage garb and tugged the garment back in a whimsical manner. A ghastly thought crossed Mackie's mind at the sight of her dear friend, she quickly crushed it with the afterthought that it was most improbable for one to die during an ordinary hunt—the Lord Knight frowned, reconsidering—_We just have to be especially cautious_, she decided.

But the foreboding lingered for she knew a killer was _cloak_ed and amidst them.

It appeared that the priestess sensed it too. For strange light lit her silver eyes at the smallest movement in the bushes—a demon, an evil spirit, a monster was about. Adrienne squeezed her fists together, she will NOT call out for assistance in her inquisitive endeavor and with that she treaded forward into the green shrubbery.

"Adrienne?" Gen began…

…her knees felt weak. A Baphoment Jr. trotted before her—as one would expect, its parent and siblings were close by. For a befuddled moment there, Aid simply stared at it and it back at her.

"Whoaggh!" The monster unexpectedly bellowed—swinging its mini scythe, ripping her bodice-front across the stomach. Adrienne reacted but an instant afterward the pain seared through her—she chanted _Lex Divina_—silencing the monster and made a hasty flight to her companions.

The _Executioner's Mittens_ was already in motion with effortless speed, the Sin Cross was replacing blow after blow on his small but terrible foe before the _Iron Maiden_ followed the suit. The sage, alchemist, whitesmith, priestess and champion had regrouped—they knew the worst was yet to come.

The lingering sunlight was not spared when the Baphoment appeared casting its towering, ominous shadow over the party and its fiendish countenance precisely above upturned faces. The monster made a ghastly cry before bringing its hands on the scythe and hurled the weapon down to them—they promptly scrambled thus dodging the marring movement.

The party positioned themselves in a decided pattern for their defense/offense—the priestess was in the farthest line with the full-support sage—healing and casting buffs and elemental weapon boosts, respectively. In the middle of the line were the whitesmith and alchemist—sending efficacious blows from their hammer and blade, respectively to the monster. And in the front most line were the assassin cross—who delivered killer _Soul Destroyer_ after _Soul Destroyer_. Next to him was the female lord knight—who repeatedly stabbed the foe with her _Poll_ _Axe_ skillfully ensuing _Vital Strikes. _The champion was also nearby—already in the midst of a _Vigor Explosion_.

"Stand your ground," the Van urged as he quickly _Upgraded a Weapon _in his inventory before putting it on. _"_Keep this up! We may just thrash this thing!!!" He clobbered the Baphoment monster with all the force he could rally, without delay he stepped aside giving the Lord Knight's sprinting stab to fluidly connect.

The flow of assaults was superb and fluid; the Bringer of Tempests will be especially pleased.

"Ye—" But, they were cut off at the sight of the monster raising its weapon over its head and gave out a wild, bloodcurdling roar.

"No…"

The Baphoment summoned its offsprings. The party was now out numbered and surrounded by Bapho Jrs.

"Push him back!" Mackie shouted, demonstrating a hard-hitting shove as the parent-Baphoment fought back relentlessly. She recovered from the loud eruption from the detonation of the Champion's _Tiger Fist_ and threw a nippy glance at the supporters and nukers. "Set your sights for the any way out. Be ready to displace! The rest of you, shadow behind them!"

"Run away?" Gen asked and Mackie nodded tersely. Her hands tightened on her staff, "Be ready everyone, I have a spell that'll eclipse your withdrawal." She pulled out a _yellow gemstone_ and chanted, "_VIOLENT GALE!!!_"

The vicinity grew breezy—then quickly gained strength… Leaves and grass blades came uprooted with swirled in the violent summoned wind.

The party of seven disseminated—with their arms over their faces against the strong wind, each heading out in the general direction of the exits. Perched high up the peco-peco, Mackenzie made a quick survey of her party mates fleeing farther and farther from the Baphoment and its mini-me's—all were counted for save for the perpetrator of the strong winds.

Brick-red hair wiped back as Mackie called back to Gen, who remained unmoving in the middle of the squall she beckoned. "Genesis!! What are in Odin's name are you doing??! Move your arse!" The sage couldn't hear her against the howling winds. Iron gauntleted hands pulled the reins of the peco-peco and made the animal to about turn. In desperation, Mackie extended to an arm to the sage as she came charging forth…

The sage's spell had died off, the monsters steadily made their way to the lord knight and sage—

Adrienne saw this as it unfold. She circled and ran back into the battle grounds. Her hands clasped over a blue gemstone and hurriedly summoned a protective barrier around the blonde sage. "_SAFETY WALL!_" And not a second too late! The fiend's attack missed!

The Champion and Assassin Cross bolted headed for the girls. Genesis had just lashed out an arm to Mackie and the lord knight pulled her up unto the peco-peco.

"Dammit it, priestess! Get away!" Van was yelling at the young lady as he set himself before the alchemist, who was hurriedly piecing a bottle grenade together. "Now is not the while to act so irresponsibly."

Adrienne would hear not of it, her silver eyes darted back and forth to the Lord Knight and Sage making their way to rest of the clustered party members with the monsters hot in pursuit.

The Assassin Cross, Lexander executed a _Meteor Assault_ on the Bapho Jrs that encircled him. "Die a'ready you filthy, lil beasts!" He cursed a great deal, blood gushing from the multiple slashes from the 'minis' on his torso. This undertaking was not for naught, the Bapho Jrs. were eliminated. The young Sin Cross managed to backslide before he fell on one knee, leaving Mathieu to damage the anguished parent-Baphoment all by himself.

Adrienne was promptly at his side, settling her responsibility with him without much ado. She blessed the assassin cross before redirecting her attention on the weakening Champion, "I'll heal Mathieu and be off myself. I am deaf to all sorts of arguments, Neilhm. I suggest you set off now. _MAGNIFICANT_!"

Hefting his _Jamadars_ uncomfortably, he stood up. "You'd better ztay twue to your word, Mon Cherie." Then _Executioner's Mittens _was gone in repeated backslides.

Adrienne nodded, and then cast a _Lex Divina_ to the forthcoming monster, giving the fleeing Champion a precious second's head start. The Baphoment took the hit and glanced at her small purple-clad form, very much insignificant in contrast to its massive form—apparently comprehending that the priestess was an easier prey to eliminate, it headed for her.

The priestess twisted away to buff-up her comrades—she didn't see the monster teleported, reappeared closer and approached from the wake of her. In a downward stroke the monster hurled the weapon down to the midnight blue haired young lady.

Portia hurled a fiery _bottle grenade_ at the fiend, voice constricted in dread. "Miss Luex!"

"LOOK OUT!!" Genesis screamed in warning.

Adrienne whirled about but it was far too late to react! The weapon landed on the earth with a loud sickening thud, sending debris flying upon collision.

"Noooo!" That came out the sage's mouth like a _Sohee_'s cry… she leaped off her backseat on the peco-peco and shouted. _"HEAVEN'S DRIVE_!" The large rocks summoned with that spell were launched down onto the Baphoment, who gave out a long roar and _BRANDISH SPEARe_d the sage.

The blond, caught by surprise, took the hurled weapon through the chest. The sage fell to her knees, arched over and crossed into the heartless threshold of death.

Mathieu came running forward with an Extremity Fist.

THUGH!

The bigger monster wavered upon impact _but_ remained standing.

"GENESIS??!" When she failed to respond for the most obvious of reasons, the _Extremist_ took the blank-eyed young woman into his arms and withdrew.

A cold wave ran though Mackenzie and grimaced at the scene. "_BESERK_!" In a fit of blind rage charged toward the Baphoment, her body surging with unsurpassed vigor, her mind gone completely vacant but for the mutilation she single-mindedly will wreak on the wretched thing that took out two of her comrades! Steering her mount, she stormed the Baphoment with a raised Poll Axe.

"Your undertaking iz a fool's errand, Ashencastle!" Crossly Lexender shouted after her, his arms around the young Alchemist thusly preventing squirming lass to cross the threshold of battle. "You may 'Elp _yourself_ with bits of gratifying vengeance but it won't be any benefit to ze dead!"

The monster took one of the multiple spiral-like attacks and was _frozen_ for a moment. Fatigue had nothing to do as Mackenzie trembled with shock and anger. It was at his spoken words that made her lapse to a pause, she relaxed but did not her guard down. "Lead them out, sir. I'll finish up here and follow soon thereafter."

Lexender blinked. He heard that line before. "Theichmacer!" He called and unceremoniously shoved the mint-green haired girl into the whitesmith's arms. And finally, he turned his blue-gray vision to the men – Van, who had Portia and Mathieu, who had what remained of Genesis - "Get zem out of 'Ere!" He would be rude as possible. He wasn't going to let this damned woman lose her life over something so trivial such as her incapacity to heed instructions but of her own. He grabbed hold of the Lord Knight's foot and yanked her down the peco-peco.

"WHAT THE—?" the Lord Knight in her full-metal plates and amour clattered ineptly as she was forcefully grounded. "_Executioner's Mittens_! That was uncalled for!"

"_Tch!_ Women and zer wretched bleeding 'eArts (hearts)! Merde." Lex cussed, grabbing Mackie's arm and made her sprint next to him. "Do you wish to depart for Valhalla right zis instant? Those who displayed daring and aspired to 'Old off zis creature iz dead!"

"You dare school me on _your_ ways of thinking, sir?" The lady retorted, struggling to keep up with his speedy pace. She glanced over shoulder, the monster teleported, he abruptly her off…

"Don't push your luck, _Iron May-den_! Jaz 'eep running!"

"But—"

The forest echoed an indistinct ethereal voice as it commanded. "MOVE!!!"

And given the circumstance before them, they couldn't help but agree and so, they concurred. Beyond the trees and shrubbery, the remaining party of five disappeared.

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She got the air knocked out of her. With the dust and debris setting the shroud, she and the pair of arms that pushed her out of harms way, sprawled and entangled in cluttered mass in the out-the-way bushes they landed on. The monster took no notice of the pair, as it continued to stalk _her_ fleeing party mates…

_He saved me_, the Jewel of Prayer mused, taking a fleeting look at the silver haired assassin cross, a_nd that I should be appreciative to this— uh, unknown Assassin Cross… _Her eyes settled on Mathieu who bent over Gen… _But my comrades_! Adrienne picked herself up and made a course out of the shrubbery. _I_ _must help them and tell that I am very much adept and very much aliv_—

The arms stretched out like of a specter's claws and wrenched her back into the shrubbery and down to an awkward squat on the ground, "Shh!" His dark blue eyes pale in the receding sunlight but she couldn't see with her back pressed to him. He cupped a hand over her mouth. "Not a sound, priestess." He whispered languidly as only a man having his way all his life could. "You wouldn't want that beast to find us here."

Chill ran down her spine, Adrienne swore it was not the effect of his warm breathe on her left ear… Really! But was the effect of the Baphoment as it paused and glanced over to their hiding place before _Teleport_ing. Yeah right, a voice in her head scoffed, keep telling yourself that…

"You're amply and securely _cloak_ed here." The Sin Cross continued, "Convey to your party of your presence and as you would expect, they will come back and face the Baphoment once again to get to you… Instead of being able to help save them—you'll be helping them hasten their journey to Valhalla."

"I say, release me!"

"Aww, not even a 'please'? Whatever ever happened to your polite…?"

"Sir!" Adrienne turned and regarded I'm with a quelling glare but his grip didn't lessen, not one bit. "I have no time for your tirades about my unfortunate politesse! I have a job to do!"

The assassin matched the look despite the blood-red scarf that concealed his entire face from the bridge of his nose down, "Don't. For what job would you be able to carry out if you cannot go though the Baphoment by your onesy without getting killed? I daresay, if you cross that threshold and there's no looking back."

Mayhap it was his grip on her wrists, mayhap his words that awaken her. But she couldn't help but agree that his reasoning was sound… Apparently, he knew more about safety in the execution of subtlety. She decided to wait for the opportune moment. His dark blue eyes lit with haughtiness at her evident acquiescence. "I'm so glad you _finally_ see it my way, Luex."

Silver eyes flashed like murderous daggers. "Come down from you high pedestal, sir, you may find yourself knocked down by your own hot air." Aid whipped her hand from his and forgotten every notion of thanking him for assisting her earlier. "For I would simply refuse to remedy your broken neck if you so do."

"Refu—oh, what happen to the job you previously said you just have to do?"

Adrienne acrimoniously laughed, pivoting away from his detestable person. "Were or weren't you who said that I shouldn't do my job?"

"Technicalities, my dear…" He called after her irate strut, "Mere technicali—"

"Sir!" She shrieked, crossing her arms, her pace quickening. "Do not address me so casually… we're not but acquaintance at the most!"

That stung. "You don't remember me, Aid?"

After a moment Adrienne turned to him, eyes narrowing at the red scarf as he yanked it down from his face… "Almighty Odi—!"

At the merest hint of danger, Zachary Reith suddenly pitched himself to her. "MOVE!" And the forest echoed his command in a rather indistinct ethereal comportment.

The forewarning reached her too late; the Baphoment recurred and flayed his Crescent Scythe at the young woman. The blade tore open a horizontal wound from her shoulder to her chest, momentarily disoriented by the searing pain, the monster finished with a hit of his weapon's hilt to her stomach, sending her airborne.

The Sin Cross balanced as he landed from his lunge. His dark blue eyes darted back and forth, torn between the adversary and the priestess.

Adrienne impacted heavily, she bounced limply from the tree, and started to move towards the cliffs edge and drop into the deep chasm below.

With a calculated lunge, Zachary hurled himself into a sliding dive across the grassy ground, his outflung hand closing about her slim wrist. Her momentum wrenched him forward half over the edge before his scrabbling fingers found hold on a nearby tree's roots, halting his headlong slide. For a moment he teetered precariously on the rim of chasm, gasping for breath. Invigorating adrenalin surging through his veins, he felt Luex's hand twitch and grimaced as it closed about his forearm, heaving him lower down the edge with her.

There was something eerie in the way her silver eyes met his. Reith knew it wasn't because of the pain… He pushed inopportune the thought aside. "Hold on, you!" Through his gritted his teeth, he urged. Zach was readying himself to draw her back up when a rasping exhaust of breath sounded above him.

Twisting his head about, his eyes widened as the enemy's pale visage loomed near, dimly silhouetted in the light from the suns impending twilight.

The monster brought both its hands together on the scythe and hurled the weapon down in a swift killing stroke. Reith twisted desperately aside and the Baphomet's scythe chafe off the ground, but the young Assassin Cross's fretful writhing finished the Boss Monster's task. Flailing wildly, Zach slid over the edge and plunged down into the swiftly coursing river below.

As the icy water closed about him, his last thought was… the fearlessness he saw in her silver-gray eyes.

Reith immediately knew, they weren't the same eyes he knew once upon a time. They professed NO fear, NO pain, NO emotion… He realized, he no longer knew Adrienne Luex, his best friend.

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End of **Chapter Six**

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Author's Notes: Gawd! Finally our 'hero' and 'heroine' meet after all those years apart… Uh, I mean, they met, this time without the intention of killing the other! Okay…You must be wondering what is wrong with Lexender Neihlm's "accent" Oh yeah, cookie-giving time! Lexender is… (Ta-da da dah dum…!) FRENCH! **/e11 **…Hm, is that even probable in RO world? Oh well, this _is_ a fanfic after all… **/heh**

I apologize for the late update (again!). It's just that I cannot bear posting a substandard chapter… if I have to do something I have to (at least) do it right and to the best of my abilities. So… **/sry** …please feel free to kick me. GRR! What's up with me lately??! Help, you guys! How? A review, if you would be so kind… and please, be kind. Remember the 'Golden Rule'? "Do not do unto others what you don't want others to do unto you."

I pray to Odin, so that he may bless you and plea to Loki, so that he may spare your little head despite the prodding of insanity in this earthly existence.

Ciao for now and see y'all (hopefully) in the next chapter, until then I'll be playing that song by Coheed and Cambria, "Wake Up".

**./kis2**

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	7. Wake Up

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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Summary: Assassin x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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**Chapter Seven**: Wake Up

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From the party of seven that left Cyfton Castle yester morn, one was M.I.A (missing in action) and another dead.

_Death and loss of a love one does not bring on Ragnarok—the seismic end of the world— to ensue. _Damon thought as he grimaced… _Genesis's death was not the end of the world_. Grimaced s_lightly_, of course, for the damnable sake of appearance before the remaining members of the hunting party he sent out. _But it was certainly the end of his_.

As a gentle breeze tousle the papers and maps scattered on his desk, he could almost hear to her spirit wistfully say…

_**//I'm going to ride this plane, out of your life again//**_

Damon wondered if the Gods formidably decreed that he should live out an existence all alone. He made plans to tell the young sage that he… that he…

He was becoming aware of the notion of being a tad bit melodramatic, "_It's most unbecoming for a gentleman_…" The Lord Knight shifted in his seat, turning away from his window's view to the five out of seven who returned as that quote echoed again and again in his head…

"We found ourselves in a skirmish." The Whitesmith was saying, "Before us was the… Baphoment."

And the rest of the account, as well as everything he understood to be essential simply dwindle to nothing… Damon leaned and sank deeper into the cushions of his chair and sank even deeper in thought. Empty thoughts, really. Thoughts that reflected the hollowness he felt but would not, nay, _never_ let somebody witness… This time, there was to be no more Adrienne to rebuke and argue with him.

There was no solace in that effort at positive thinking. He lost his little 'sister' too…

_**//I wish that I could stay but you argue**_

It took quite an effort just sitting there when in all honestly his mind was in condition to heed anything but his quiet and disturbed musings. In the end, a raven black head nodded absently, pausing before rising to study the books lined on one of the shelves in one corner of this chamber… "Fear not," he addressed Van, Portia, Mathieu, Mackenzie and Lexender, "for we shall hire agents to recover the Jewel of Prayer."

The Bringer of Tempests was acutely aware of Portia who shuddered. To the Alchemist, he made it sound that the agents will be bringing home a corpse.

Van, on the other hand, narrowed his storm-blue eyes into disapproving slits at Mackenzie who left without ceremony. Her countenance shadowed by her side-swept bangs as she left the assembly…

_**//More than this I wish, you could've seen my face//**_

Damon, the Whitesmith noted, was noticeably, uhm, inattentive to give a care.

The Assassin Cross and Champion remained there, motionless. Van can only guess what the pair was thinking. He, as well, wanted to get out of this bleak chamber, and take what the party managed to gather and dispense the items to the archer class, forgers, alchemists, healers and/or just about any guild member who would craft the items into arrows, weapons, potions and the like.

Theichmacer was not one who would allow something as valuable as sacrifice go to waste. Being a Whitesmith that he is, it was in his nature and nurture to utilize of any and every thing presented by transforming and _re_transforming such into the best thing it could possibly be— a certain some thing of _use_.

"It will not be long…" Damon's blue eyes grew weary when he turned to face them, a heavy bound journal at hand and restfully returned to his desk. They knew it was the new burden he must now carry; they knew if the _Jewel_ was amongst them now, she, without doubt exclaim of Damon's masquerade of calm— "Please, rest and regain strength for tomorrow we must all wake up to another daybreak."

Not all of us_ will _awaken… He opened the journal to its most previous entry. The group silently looked on as Damon dipped the point of a quill and etched on the book's parchment in that firm and bold calligraphy of his: "'Labyrinth Forest, Prontera: 'Genesis Birdeen—deceased, and Adrienne Luex—M.I.A'."

The Militia of Sungren's Guild Master managed to curl the corners of his mouth and the group took the gesture as a dismissal and departed. With them gone, the smile died away.

Gathering his bearings, he sauntered out the chamber, down the far end of the east wing of the castle where he took a narrow flight of winding stairs up to the east tower. He sought the place that would offer him the solace, especially in this time for second mourning in a fortnight.

_It has been a while_… He thought, landing on the final step of the stairs, feeling the full gust of wind whipping his white peasant shirt and mahogany brown breeches forcefully to his body, his dark hair to his stubbled chin… It used to have a calming effect on him, but not today… probably, _never_ again.

The East Tower was the highest tower of Cyfton Castle. It was nothing if not a huge and cylindrical balcony of magnificently chiseled stone sculptures. This was Damon's favorite spot in the entire castle—it was his _sanctuary_ growing up… It was the best place to be alone and cry your heart out—without fear of being perceived as weak.

_**//The morning will come  
In the press of every kiss//**_

Though the kiss of the brilliantly shining morning light touched his electric blue eyes, his eyes drew naught of the light. His soul was desolate and dark as the dawn was exultant and fair.

…exultant and fair. _Miss Sunshine_.

Damon clenched his large fists to succumb the severity of his responsibility to her… he felt that it was he who sent her to her untimely end.

He dug deep inside him and found a voice. And roared it in one deep and resounding exclamation, which shook out the perched birds on the roof tiles above into a startled flight. When he perceived sound of uncontainable yet muffled sobbing, Damon straightened instantly. It appears that, he was sharing _his_ sanctuary with someone else.

A crouched figure in the far end of the terrace's stone-sculpted arched entryway was the doer. The shock of her unusual brick-red hair was a bold distinction from that of the white-washed hue of the stonewalls of this out-of-the-way place.

"Ashencastle?"

The figure didn't stir, ceaseless in her wrenched mourning though he swore his heavy footsteps announced him. Her long limbed arms, devoid of her iron gauntlets were folded over her drawn up knees, her head slumped unto them in woe.

She was never the sort would go around with her heart on her sleeve and now, she's doing just that, literally, I might add. He wryly reflected… and yet something tugged his core. If she had short and raven black hair instead of that long brick-red hair of hers, he would be seeing himself, an eleven year old going exactly that…

Damon wordlessly took a spot on the stone floor, next to her. He stretched out an arm behind her proud head, just over her shoulders and pulled it to a rest against his chest. The Lord Knight kept his arm over her shoulder, trapping her in a rather hesitant yet firm hold.

_**//With your head upon my chest//**_

Her astonishment came and gone like the life of her dear, dear Gen… Mackenzie turned into his arms and cried harder.

_**//Where I will annoy you  
With every waking breath  
Until you decide to wake up//**_

Mackenzie, Damon thought as he tears soak his shirt's front, was human after all… And the biggest blow he had was the realization that even though they annoyed the other in almost every opportunity presented to them… They can now help the other…

Wake up from this hurting. And begin to heal the pain.

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Bloodbaths' head burst out of the freezing torrents, he was about to swim toward the shore when a blow of alarm hit him. He just remembered that he was not alone when he fell in the water…

Adrienne!

In a deep breath, he filled his lungs with air and dove.

It took a while to get his eyes adjusted to the water, then promptly scanned the area for her. Sensing something shifting behind him, he turned and thrashed against the torrential water barrier between him and the priestess. Zach caught a handful of her clothing and heaved it to him. He grasped her torso with one arm, the other outstretched to the beacon of light overhead.

The Priestess came up noisily, coughing up swallowed water and gulping for air. Without delay she pivoted, searching of something to keep her from being swept away from the swift coursing currents…

Apparently, she did not want him to her help her… but for the Sin Cross who saved her, he would not have such display of pride to supersede for safety. He lashed a hand to her and just about dragged her to him…

It was his intention to help her, by putting a steady arm under on her but she pushed him aside, apparently determined to get to shore on her own… He gave in… This was Adrienne after all… he should know better. "All right," Water treading, Zachary's mouth twisted into a grin. "I may have deserved that for discounting that you fell in _too_. A temporary breech in memory, I assure you 'twas not of senility."

She raised an eyebrow demonstrating her clear disinterest in his jest. Her reply wasn't the once he anticipated and he could not blame her. He was the one attempting to initiate a dialogue, _Beggars can't be choosers_, they always say. The girl was already some distance ahead of him, he swam after her.

He closed the distance between in mere four stokes. Adrienne shifted her gaze, anxious that he may see the impressed look at his undeniable skill and grace in water.

_I need not bloat his ego all the more._ She decided concentrating on her own callow but efficient strokes… She had handled his kind before, arrogant the lot of them! Adrienne was confident on how to soldier on with him. "With detachment and unruffled snobbery!" She thought sternly, her outstretched arm causing her shoulder-to-chest wound open up… and bleed.

The Assassin Cross didn't see that. He had rolled over to his back, kicking and beating through the water with easy progress. He floated for on his back for a while relaxing at the feel of the waters ripples and the sound rustle of water that told him she was moving. "It's getting dark," he voiced, eyeing the red, pink and purple setting sky. "We have to make camp…"

He maneuvered himself unto his stomach in that same easy movement… Adrienne's eyes narrowed at him. "Are you jealous that I still swim better that you?" He queried, amusement lit up his dark blue eyes as he stood up in the shallows with the water measuring up to his waist.

She followed suit and straightened. Her silver-gray eyes widen at the sight of how her clothes indecently clung to her body… Her blanching countenance hued a becoming shade of pink on her cheeks. She quickly turned her back to him, peeling the clinging material from its slick contouring of her body.

And as any hot-blooded man would, he laughed at her apparent embarrassment. Oh, Freija, if she knew that he _seen_. She shot him a glare over her shoulder that could chastise.

At his he raised a hand in his defense. "You must be forgetting, my dear priestess. I'm an Assassin Cross… far beyond your professions training of redeeming. I mean no insult in _your_ capabilities—just your _profession_, in general."

Adrienne ought to have agreed without shilly-shallying, but she could not bring herself to do so… especially when he took the effort of sparing her sensibilities. In her most recent assessment, they were enemies. This Sin Cross was a collaborator in Cyfton's last siege… He is in league with _Doom's Doors_, that painful-looking mark on the base of his left neck declared so. A thought came to her… he has been very cordial with her (with an exception, of course, when they faced off in the constricted passageway leading to the Cyfton's main/receiving foyer)… as if… as if… in some point in time they were …friends.

_His face… _The priestess pivoted. He had his back to her, twisting his blood-red neckerchief of excess water… _it is so… well, aside from the fact that I've seen it for the duration of that one castle siege… his face was of a stranger's. But his manner… his manner was very familiar._ Adrienne had long considered that he could be conning her… That was what she's truly fearful of. She would not stand for any sort of dishonesty! …and with that the ground shift abruptly beneath when her wobbly knees gave out beneath her.

Her movement ended abruptly in a splash and a mumble. She choked out a mouthful of water and sat on her rear, her legs outstretched, arms propping her body upright… For some reason, she was oddly weary and …waning.

Adrienne threw her head back and eyed the predominantly deep purple panorama of the sky. She could not put her finger on it… There has to be something about this guy that makes her so clumsy! …and the last time she was such… _Let's see… Bloody thirteen_! It was the foremost instance she stepped in Cyfton Castle and she desperately wanted to impress those around her…

The notion struck her like a blow to the head… She was not given another moment to dwell on the thought… The Sin Cross approached from behind. He leaned over and cast a literal shadow over the figurative one that loomed over her head just seconds ago.

"Do you need a hand?" he eventually offered though it was evident that his voice in the brink of bursting into laughter at her blunder.

"Not when it is offered in ridicule!" She replied sourly, bolting up so suddenly that her torso searing with pain. _This is not good_, she thought as her head spinning for some peculiar reason. _Not good at all_…

His eyes shifted from her ashen face, down to the suggestive tear on her bodice that ran from her shoulder to her chest, to that dark swirl of color on the waters about her… _What in Loki's name is_—?

…Swirl of blood surged from the devastating slash the Baphoment scuff on her, he realized. "Dammit woman, no wonder you're pale as death! Why didn't you say anything?!! Dammit… a priestess who can't help anyone…" He lifted her into his arms and dashed for shore. "…that's what you are! You can't even help yourself!"

Despite his apparent slander on the capabilities he said he say she had… Adrienne managed a laugh. She said so and added; "I have what it takes or I do not… _Ohhhhh_, do make up your mind already, sir…"

His boots made musical rustle as he treaded into the woods. Several yards in-land, he found a suitable and rather safe clearing. With his foot, Zach gathered the fallen leaves on the ground before spreading out his blood-red neckerchief over them… And as gently as he lifted her, he set her down on the make-shift bed.

She was groggy and genuinely touched… and she said so. "Oh dear… I'm becoming quite wordy, wouldn't you say, Sir Assassin…?" she deliriously repeated… "I'm genuinely touched by this gallant act of yours, Sir Assassin… Although you do not know me or… do you? You are so kind… so kind. I'm most grateful, Sir Assassin…"

"It's me, Adrienne… It's Zach, Zachary…?" He pleaded with his eyes, if he was going to lose her again… By the Gods! He will make her remember! …But, nothing! There was no kind, consoling look of her remembrance of… "Zachary Reith?"

She did not hear a single word he said, but a small smile did tug her beautiful mouth as she curled into a small ball on the makeshift cot; "I do not know you…I do not know you… but thank you, thank you, sir."

His heart sank. It was a fact that with his rise as Bloodbath, he buried anything and everything related to Zachary Reith. This woman was the only person he knew who REALLY knew the person he _was_. WHAT IN ODIN'S NAME—damn! If she has forgotten… then who knew what kind of human being (Bloodbath's incapable of "human" feeling) he was like before the cold, gloomy nights of the hunt, the swiftness of death in the blades of a katar and the tragedy of lonesome despair?

Darkness closed in and dragged her into its depths…

Zach's heart hammered in his chest. It was unlike anything he ever felt in the past. Such hammering was always the consequence of adrenalin… But this… what was happening now… was of something… _else_.

He leaned closer to her still body… and breathed a little easier. She was asleep.

She hasn't changed. She was always scaring the shit out of him…

No. He amended… I must not think that nothing has changed. Damn you, Reith! You're becoming as delirious as she is! Just accept the fact that she has changed and, admit it, so have you… you cannot go on presuming the contrary… What is in past will remain there! Remember… nothing you can do will change that…

A devious smile curled the corners of his lips… but you _can_ fan the embers of the past…

"Speaking of embers…" he said aloud whilst the unusually nippy wind touched his drenched body, Zach rose, turned in search of kindling and such to start a fire. With the fire cracking, some feet from them, he turned to the sleeping miss and practically grimaced at her ghastly cut.

He took her carrier bag and rummaged through its contents. Zach found a thick, leather-bound bible, a rosary, a _Big Ribbon_, vials of _White Potion_, a small jar of _honey_, bottles of _Grape Juice_, three pieces of Royal Jelly, an _Yggdrasil Berry_, a _magnifier_ and other _loots_… but he could not find the items he needed… Impatient, he turned the bag over and dumped all its contents to the ground. He found what he needed—a strip of clean (although damp but still utilizable) cloth, rolls of bandages, an ointment (he recognized often used for cuts) and a small knife.

Zach cleaned, treated and bandaged her wounds. With the final knot in place, he sliced through the bandage with one side of his infiltrators blade, rolled up the excess and admired his brisk but adequate efficiency in treating a wound. _Thank you, _First Aid _skill_. Stretching out to gather the mess he made in his hastiness, he noticed a peculiar corked glass vial and picked it up. For some reason, he could not help himself from investigating the contents of her bag.

Someone once told him in a sly and crafty manner that his young thirteen year old self would emulate, "You can always tell what sort of a lady is from the contents of her purse." He mentally shook the thought from his head… but it was hard to do so. That quote ran deep in his mind… and even deeper in his past. A past that shapes you to who you are now… may it for the better or for the worst… you are you because of it.

Sitting cross-legged, he leaned against a tree trunk and allowed his mind to wander. The vial's glass glinted under the moonlight as it was tossed, caught and tossed again… For a moment, his eyes caught her sleeping figure and they soften at their own accord. "You're no different from me, are you, Aid? You are you because of the past." He chuckled, "And now… you're someone so different from the girl I used to know. We have a history together, kid… And you seem to have forgotten all that. I, on the other hand… cannot."

He caught the vial with a swift, arrogant movement and closed his eyes. "Call me fool, my friend, for that's what I am and will always be… as I say this—_I_ want us to be friends again…"

"Why ever not, you big snowflake-head?"

_Snowflake_? His eyes flew open. Adrienne was sitting up in the cot, smiling… like during the good old days… "You remember."

"Ah… _Duh_!"

She remembers then she forgets… Now, what's wrong with this picture?

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End of **Chapter Seven**

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Author's Notes: Oh oookay… I think I'm painting Zach to be a something of a romantic… "Romantic" here with the meaning and/or connotation of an "optimistic realist"… (Haha! Does that make sense??)

Well, what do you think? I have to say, that wasn't premeditated… it just came out that way… And this isn't the first time… remember chapter 2? When I say his last time was "kinda flimsy"? Well… it's already the 8th chapter! I say it's too late to do a 180 on him… "I'm sorry" if you hate this new itinerary of his character. But personally, I think it's kinda adorable… why? Wait and see! Ü)

Like always, "Thank you very much for your reviews!" This chapter is an effort to capture the essence (ehem) of _Coheed and Cambria_'s song of which this chapter is named after. Hm, I simply took some lines of the aforementioned song that would in one way or another suit the chapter… I'm sorry if you were inconvenienced as caused by the 'incomplete' lyrics.

I really love to hear from you guys. Do let me know what you think… of the turn of this fic, questions, suggestions, and comments about the new NINJA job! I've been meaning to ask anyone out there who knows about that character.

Remember y'all… "Fight the consequence of being LEX DIVINA-ed! ("Silenced" a.k.a writer's block) M'kay?"

Shucks…where did that come from?

**./hmm**

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	8. When You're Afraid

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**A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction**

"**Falling for Hellish Eyes"**

**By Bloody Priestess**

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Summary: Assassin x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.

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Author's Notes: Hello there! Apparently, I am still alive. Hehehe.

Uhmm, be warned with _this_ chapter, okay? A little smut (did I used the term correctly?) on the way.

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**Chapter Eight**: When You Are Afraid

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Adrienne could not remember any living memory that could compare to _this_ wonderful state of happiness.

_It was as if they were _never _apart_... They still laughed at the same things, still teased about the same old blunders, chased through the stately trees of a forest... _It was like they were kids again_... _still_ innocent, _still_ carefree, _still_ battling inner demons unbeknownst by the other but despite that—because of the other, such demons were at bay.

Yes, indeed… they remained excruciatingly _still_. Still, motionless, silent.

They did not discuss anything about their lives following their parting in Izlude... Much to Aid's gladness, for she was not ready to unearth the past and the pain she held that she buried upon joining the Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus. And looking at Zach, she could tell he was NOT offering information about himself and his activities either.

_"For the best"._ She silently reassured herself. Little did she know that she was not alone in that thought.

"Hurry up, Aid! By Thor's Hammer, you _still_ move like a bulky Golem!" The Assassin Cross called sideways to Priestess, who gave him her full attention as she followed up the path.

He had his back facing her while he surveyed the scene beyond the hill they were on as if he was King Tristan III, the ruler of Rune-Midgard himself. His hands were arrogantly perched on either side of his hip in a gesture of long-suffering patience, which she knew all too well. It was the very same gesture he made back in the day as he waited for her to catch up (which happened quite _often_).

Despite herself Adrienne smiled. A small smile... but a smile, nonetheless.

It was the same back then, he always moved quickly and efficiently—much to her frustration for it meant she had to move quickly too. The only difference was, back then, it was her novice bag filled with potions and sweets that weighed her down... and now, she could compare to his agility training, even with her supportive spells, she _still_ lagged behind him.

Adrienne dragged her sore toes for that one final step before huffing and buffing as the last remnants of her Increase Agi spell wore off. "Oh. Was the statement supposed to bother me? This is NOT race!"

Honestly! She was getting quite irked of seeing his behind for the entire time to their journey! _Well_, the priestess noted distractedly, _the 'behind' of was not THAT bad at all_—

Aid cheeks reddened. With a considerable amount of effort, she determinedly focused her gaze NOT on his behi… _AGH_, _for Odin's sake!_ She forced her eyes to follow the line of his outstretched hand and espied down the valley to which it pointed.

In the corner of her eyes, she saw his mouth moving as if silently grumbling. Adrienne stifled a laugh; it was really quite cute. She bit her lower lip. _No_. Damn Zachary and his attractiveness. She thought finally.

She abruptly stopped in her tracks.

She'd never forgive him for _that_… and what his outstretched arm pointed to…

_The cold—oh such icy daggers_… Her hand unsteadily stole up her mouth. _The endless rain…_ _A gaping wound beneath her bloody hands_… Darkness pounded heartlessly against the floodgates of her strength of mind.

The picturesque vision brought back all horror she pushed and sealed away in the deepest part of her consciousness mind, as it unsympathetically loomed before her…

_Payon._

The last nine days with him had been wonderful...

...until now.

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The sands of time had turned _anew_.

Veldandi, Skuld and Urd decreed that: Nothing was to be the same anymore.

Cyfton Castle was undergoing an expansion. A new exterior wall will indeed aid in the safeguarding the Keep. Damon was out in the construction site, investigating the progress...

Her pale green eyes have been following him since _that_ day. But she tried to not make it so apparent, and so... she lowered them to the scrolls containing the plans laid out on the table. The head foreman, Herburn Passel was talking to Mackenzie (the appointed head-overseer) and Damon, about the advantage of using quarried stones and specially-concocted gravel but her mind was elsewhere.

Well, any one who had a heart would know that Damon Chantal never quite forgiven the _fates_ for what happened to Adrienne and Genesis. Mackenzie thought, trying not look at _Cerberus'_ Guild Master. Although he may not parade it such fondness, it was apparent for someone who was been clandestinely observing him for as long as she has been.

It has been nine days… and the _Iron Maiden_ has yet to see him sleep and eat properly. He was testing the Three Sisters of Fate. _No_, she thought, _more accurately, he was daring them to take him especially now that he was on a sure course of self-destruction_.

Mackenzie had seen this all before… It was not healthy. And ne'er shall it bring about a relevant solution, she tried to tell him so… but, Damon would hear none of it. She was starting to feel the strong stirrings of concern for him… _Stirrings_ that she long laid to rest since…

Her mind wandered back to _that_ rainy day in Payon…

_**...**_

_She watched a young swordsman caught sight of a fellow guild member, a blonde Mage sprinting away from a _Bongun _she just hurled a handful of fire bolts at. He picked up his weapon and meddled, leaving the acolyte with long midnight blue hair alone with the Guild Master._

_She tore her pale-green gaze from the scene, just as swiftly as the scene tore something from her heart. But the damage has been done; she left the torn piece on the ground to rot. And so, she did the next best thing within her command— Grasping her _Balmung_ steadily with both hands, she returned to the task at hand. She swept the weapon in a concluding upward shift at the summoned Mummy before her—duly destroying it._

_She received congratulatory a pat from Alasdair Pipecraft, their guild's resident Priest._

"_Well done,_ _Ashencastle." The wine red haired Priest had said. If he was ONLY talking about the vanquished monster or something _more_... she'll never know._

_The noise of death slowly dwindled and with it the sun slowly came out from its hiding place behind the ominous clouds._

_Brick red hair caught in the breeze, a free, badly splintered hand tucked the stray strands behind her ear. 'It's over.' She declared indistinctly._

_And, to her amazement, Damon whistled to catch her attention (Ha! As if, she never had her attention on him all the time!). Upon turning to him, he tossed a small jar of ointment to her. And as the small vial soared towards her, she stabbed her _Balmung_ to the ground and caught the glass object in one fluid, graceful motion._

"_Your hands." He said, turning away to stand beside his father and the female acolyte she saw the pair rescued earlier._

_Some part of her scoffed, but the other—and more dominant—part of her was leaping with joy at his thoughtfulness. _Just when she was ready to let go—he does something that would make her think twice.

_Her fourteen year old self saw that the acolyte saw that_ look_ on her face after the kind gesture exhibited by Damon. 'Caught', would have been a more accurate and blunt word for it._

_And the truth to it? It was quite embarrassing. She prided herself for being very subtle and clandestine with her _true _feelings and guarded of her candid reactions. This was the very first time someone caught he unawares. _

_The acolyte with stunning silver eyes smiled hesitantly at her, obviously catching her in such a position. There was an understanding that was not missed by the other. She smiled back—a smile authenticating a truce of sorts. But deep inside, the young swordswoman was gladden that someone knew (more of less) of her affection for one of the acolyte's rescuers._

_There was this wonderful feeling of freedom in having a stranger know something about yourself you'd never tell and show your best friend, she realized. For the reason that, since they don't know anything about you, they have no entitlement to accurately make out your character—and simply disregard the whole ordeal. It was perfect, she thought, for the feeling was stunning to weigh heavily after being kept solely to herself._

_And then, Guild Master Derek Chantal introduced her as Adrienne Luex… their newest guild member._

_She paled considerably. She knew in the long run... Adrienne would realize everything. She knew this to be a fact for she knew intelligence and perceptiveness when she saw it._

_A lovely sunshine-blond mage turned to her, "Are you alright, Mackie? You're blanched as a _Whisper_."_

"_Oh? It's simply the cold, Gen." She convincingly smiled reassuringly, "Nothing serious."_

_Considerately, Genesis cast a fire ball and suspended the floating flame close enough to warm the female swordie._

_She was genuinely touched. People have been exceedingly kind to her… they REALLY need not be. She was unworthy of such kindness. Her innate nobleness made her swear to make it up to all them._

_From then on, Mackenzie Ashencastle knew that she'd do everything in her power to show her obvious intense dislike of he, who her heart held dear._

_Why? An inner voice asked._

_Because, she was NOT blind to the intense manner Damon Chantal was looking at her best frien—_

_**...**_

"_Iron Maiden_," he said with ill-concealed displeasure, "are you still with us?"

Mackenzie snapped out of her little reverie and turned to him, "Do you want the _truth_, sir?"

Something in her manner and in her one told Damon that she was not talking about the damnable quarried stones and specially-concocted gravel. By the Gods, he _too_ was not paying any attention to Passel.

Herburn Passel surveyed the young Guild Master then the female Lord Knight. He decided to let these young people work out whatever that is troubling them. Wisely, he brought them back to original flow of the conversation. "What do you think, my lord?"

It took a moment before Damon found his place in the earlier conversation. "Ah, yes." He remembered. "Quarried stones long have been part of this fortress' history, as well as its structure. But… Cyfton's under a new reign and with that I intend to bring the castle and all those who allegiance to keep her string and standing into the future. Monsieur Passel we shall have this specially concocted gravel instead of the quarried stones."

Mackenzie realized that the true reason behind his choice—being the Lord Knight's man-at-arms and _Cerberus'_ second in command, she had some understanding of his personality and (more or less) his way of thinking. Understanding, she noted with a smirk, does not mean that she _agrees_ with it.

The reason was that they had no time to quarry the formidable and historic stones from the mountains north of Prontera. Furthermore, if _time_ was NOT a factor, accomplishing the feat would need man-power... and that too, was another matter _Cerberus_ lacked, given that most of their guild members were still recovering. And not to mention, the lessening to their ranks due to the brave who offered their lives so that a Militia flag with trimming hues of scarlet-red could continue to wave on Cyfton's halls, balconies and towers.

What truly amazed Mackie was the fact that he immediately was all-business and no-nonsense. And not mention that Damon did NOT voice those _other_ reasons to Passel. Cunning, would be the reason_—_Passel was NOT a guild member but a hired man from town. She could not help but feel glad... Damon was becoming more and more like his admirable, noble father.

"I understand that I am now to send for the _Creator_ who shall brew the concoction for the stones to be used, sire?" Passel queried, waving to someone over his shoulder.

Damon, without lifting his studying gaze on the construction plans, said, "You understood correctly. Send for the man, it is imperative that I speak with—"

"_Woman_." A testy fourth voice corrected. _'Uggggh, always assume that the_ man _for the job is always_ a man_. Why can't_ men _ever see that a female can do anything as good a male?! For Valhalla's sake, it is not because she has mounds on her chest and flat in the neither regions, it does NOT follow she's complete incompetent.'_ Or so Damon heard her grumble as she stepped forward to them. "I am the Creator, sir..." And then, the voice's owner noted with a burst of feminine pride, that second Lord Knight with long brick-red hair sitting across the dark-haired Lord Knight was a woman, "..._and_ my lady."

Mackenzie Ashencastle and Damon Chantal looked up and saw—long curling hair swaying gently from under the hood of her cloak and a small, slightly crooked smile.

_That smile_, the _Iron Maiden's_ heart caught in her throat... _Why, it was just like_...

"_Genesis_?"

Damon was already on his feet, openly gaping at the young woman.

A chill crept down Mackenzie's spine... No wonder her initial thought was the preposterous notion that her deceased best friend was ALIVE. If the young Creator (she judged to be around five and twenty) had long, curling hair of pure sunshine gold _instead_ of red-gold and had rich, dark brown eyes _instead_ of a fox's light, amber eyes—the female Lord Knight would have take back everything she said and declare that Genesis Birdeen was alive and well.

But that was not possible—for, with her own two eyes, she saw her friend's body burned in the burial ceremony and the ashes cast into the four winds which carried it off to the sea. This woman was NOT her dear Genesis.

"No, sir." The young lady replied, clearly taken aback. "My name is Eiselle. Twilight Eiselle."

"Twilight." And from the manner Damon addressed the Creator, it is evident that he did _not_ share Mackenzie's suspicious conclusion.

_It was happening... all over again. Perfect!_

Just when she was ready to _hold on_—he does something that would make her think twice.

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Adrienne roused from the darkness screaming.

Zach immediately abandoned his post by the small fire pit he made and hasten to her side. She was in his arms when tipped something cool as glass to her parched lips."Here, take this."

It was a tone that seemed so alien, coming from her childhood best friend. It was the tone of voice used by cold people who was used to have their orders done with swiftness that would shame a gale and demanded that no questions to be asked once destruction as been done. Adrienne, in a different circumstance, would have cheekily ignored the command. She had always known that honey catches more flies than with vinegar and she was resolute to have people utilize the learning as well.

There was fire in his eyes that left her surrendering. And so, the priestess allowed him to pour a horrible tasting liquid down her throat. Assassin Cross or not, a mere doting Friend or a great, cunning Foe—she knew NONE of the answers to any of these questions. If the foul concoction was really poison or not—she could AND _would_ not care... for she, foolish it may be, trusted this man completely.

It was something her heart just _knew_. And for once, she allowed that _il_logical conclusion to overrule her reason.

Aid snuggled deeper into the make shift cot he made. The drug—or whatever in Valhalla's halls that was, calmed her down. Gradually, her heart rate returned to normal and the searing pain of her head dwindled to a fairly tolerable ache. "Thank you, Zach." She managed a small weak smile. "You should teach me how to make that cure you just gave me."

He knew it was not the best time to tell her she fainted. Instead he employed the safest proven tactic to put her at ease whenever Aid was afraid. "What's this?" He teased. His smile wicked, "A Priestess asking an Assassin Cross for help? Since when did that travesty or better yet, _the_ Adrienne Luex ASK for anyone's help?"

His words hit her with an impact of a sonic blow, but her expression remained unchanged.

He still thought her of being proud. She was happy he thought so— or so, she decided to deceive herself. Automatically, a smile started to form on her lips—but something in her shattered. She was suddenly tried of pretending. There was something in Zach's presence that made honestly flood out of her… Unwillingly tears formed around the corners of her eyes. Adrienne hastily turned to her side, away from him as the tears began to fall.

_It was becoming tiresome to be regarded so_... Aid admitted, slowing coming to an epiphany... _for it meant I had to somehow maintain the façade of_ _the happy girl I _USED_ to be. Everything had been wonderful between us—our childhood and our reunion, I do NOT want to be the cause for THIS sad turn_.

And so, she put on her most haughty, holier-than-thou tone, "Oh, you misconstrue, you big snowflake-head, I did NOT ask! I _commanded_!"

His low chuckle was devastating to her senses. Mayhap that was the reason why she did not anticipate that he would grab her by her shoulders and spin her around to face him.

He stared. _Tears_?

He gently brushed a stray lock of her long midnight-blue hair off her face, he searched her stunning features for an answer for Zachary just could not put two and two together. If he had any intention of not asking questions that would unearth the 'lost past', he forgotten them… Word spilled faster than he could rein them, "Whatever happened to that strong, rather mouthy priestess back in Cyfton? The very one that has been by my side for the last nine days? The unchanged Adrienne Luex?"

"She died..." Adrienne replied, eyes not meeting his. Her voice sounded so detached, lost and vague, "Of drowning, you see, in her _sorrows_."

Zach did not hear the tell tale signs... He deemed the angsty avowal to the type of dramatics she always done _in the past _to make him laugh... In the past. True to his conclusion, he still thought of her as if she never changed.

"How could I possibly say this, Aid? I know for a fact -- after months of surveillance and from what I gathered first hand -- that you, my dear Adrienne Luex, a priestess, of two and twenty autumns, the hailed '_Jewel of Prayer'_ of the Militia of Sungren's Order of Cerberus, and bosom friend of Cerberus' current Guild Master, Damon Chantal. I know she DID NOT CHANGE."

He interpreted her silence for being caught red-handed in her little ruse. "Why... You are the same—silly, fun-loving, mouthy, self-sacrificing, witty little girl with incredible silver eyes I knew before all this trickster-lopsided things occurred in my life..."

"Please," Aid pleaded, curling to a small ball on the cot and buried her face to her drawn up knees. She did not take notice of the disclosure of how life had been _for him_… It was not her intent to take him lightly, for if she did not feel so little and worthless, she would have asked him to recount his past days until he was hoarse."You're shelving me to be _just_ that! I _am_ MORE than that, Zach. Peopl—no, _everything_ changes. You can either continue to turn a blind eye, that is your business, but—the very least humanitarian thing you can do is consider the reality and what's before your very eyes... And in turn, you may understand _this_ plight."

_Blind eye_. Such a statement, if uttered by someone _else_ would not be so taken lightly... The notorious Bloodbath would not have allowed it... but _Zachary Reith_... who still had some _heart_ left... "All right. Make me understand what exactly you mean... _Adrienne_?"

"_I_ cannot make you understand. 'Tis _life_ who should teach you that lesson... You'll understand immediately after it has beaten down soundly, taken everything all you've ever known and replaced it with... _reality_. Reality that always goes hand in hand with suf—"

"...suffering," Zach finished for her. "...that you have suffer silently in attempt NOT to worry those who _claim_ to care for your well-being... but _that_ is just the initial reason isn't it, Aid? The deeper reason would be... you're pride will not allow you to let them you that you are _indeed_ just like them..."

With each word he had spoken aloud... Adrienne curled to an even tighter ball on the cot, there was a curious tremor that raked through her body.

Zach recognized the sight from those forcefully forgotten nights as a young child in Izlude. Silently, he laid down beside her, and pulled her to him that her curved back fitted his front. And he just held her like so... until the tremors ceased and was replaced by ever increasing crying sounds.

_Ah, is this what you felt when you held _me, _mother?_ _Powerful and helpless all at the same damn time_?

The midnight blue haired young woman slowly turned into his arms and gave in to the long pent-up emotions to wash over her... And she released them. As Adrienne cried, Zach cradled her to him.

Zach held women before... but never like this. He eased their tension by giving them what they wanted, usually with a certain rhythmic back and forth jerky movement of his hard, agile body. There was an innocence here that he never felt in any of those past instances when he held women... An innocence that he never felt since the last time he squatted beside a weeping little girl with rosy cheeks near that fruit vendors stall eons ago...

His body stirred... and there was absolutely nothing innocent about _this one_. This was a perfectly natural reaction of a fully mature male to a perfectly mature woman.

Zach could tell from her beautifully expressive eyes, that Adrienne did not comprehend the ways of nature unfolding before and _to_ her, for she unwrapped her arms around her and set them about his waist and flanks.

There was no malice in her, no wily intent to seduce... just plain old innocence.

His mind told him, that if there was any bit of honor left in him—he would have to distance himself from this innocent (...well, innocent in _those_ matters, anyhow). But truthfully speaking, he had none of that. It was hard.

It was really hard to pattern yourself like your (so _they_ say) great father to be noble when all you have were _stories_ and memories _not_ of your own. Zachary felt justified. Placing a hand firmly on the small of her back, he drew her closer to his strength and warmth. Feeling his form upon the contact must have been the reason for her to sharply look up to him with her eyes so damnably innocent and surprised.

Something inside him... cursed her. _This tiny bit of enduring innocence in her was _not_ possible_. He could not understand where all this growing anger was coming from... Zachary Reith recognized that 'something' to be—_Bloodbath_. The latter, found it very _un_fair.

He crashed his mouth on to hers that tore a small, helpless cry from her throat. Firmly, he kept a hand behind her head to keep her from thrashing about— when that failed, he toppled her and held her there—on her back and he, an immovable weight over her.

"What in gloomy Neifelheim are you doing, Reith?!"

She never used 'Reith' unless she was extremely cross with him—Zach did not care. Crossing her wrists over her head, he secured them with an iron grip, he usually reserved for his victims he leaned his face to hers for an even fiercer, rougher kiss.

All of the sudden, she was not _so_ afraid.

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"_**WHAT YOU ARE REALLY AFRAID OF—"**_

…

**You're not afraid of the dark.**

_You are afraid of what's in it that you_ know not_ and deprived from being prepare to defend against it._

**You're not afraid of heights.**

_You're afraid of_ falling _and doubtful if someone is out there in the abyss ready to catch you._

**You're not afraid of the people around you.**

_You're afraid that they may_ not accept_ the person you really are and harshly reject you if you do show them._

**You're not afraid to love.**

_You're afraid of_ not being loved_ back by whom you dared to risk of exhausting your feelings on._

**You're not afraid to try again.**

_You're just afraid of getting_ hurt _for the same damn reason._

…

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End of **Chapter Eight**

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Disclaimer: I do not own "_What you are really afraid of"_ except of course that italized line(s) after the normal text—_I _wrote that latter text. It was in 'retaliation' to that written in the normal text. I do that, especially when something strikes a chord in me. :)

Author's Notes: No kiddies, before you go and flame me for that 'held women (and all that followed)' bit(s)... I want to say, 'death to all biting plot-bunnies' but hey, that'd be a charge for animal cruelty! Lolx

_C'est vous plait_ don't forget to sign in (if you want moi to reply), and... read and review. _Merci_.

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